


And That's How It Goes

by LazBriar



Series: The Thief, The Spider, and the Hotel [9]
Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Anal, Drugs, Emotional Baggage, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Gay, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Oral, Romance, Series, Short, Slow Burn, Trauma, gay relationships, m/m - Freeform, relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:28:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 40,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24503128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LazBriar/pseuds/LazBriar
Summary: Following the events of the Thief-Spider trilogy, "And That's How It Goes" is a mini-series starring the daily lives of Thief Anon and Angel Dust. Like a collection of supercuts, follow their day-to-day goings as they build a life for themselves. Two husbands deal with the fiasco of roughing it on their own, along with the less-than-reliable Hellhound, Mynerva, working security.
Relationships: Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel) & Original Male Character(s), Angel Dust/Thief Anon, Arackniss/Sir Pentious (Hazbin Hotel)
Series: The Thief, The Spider, and the Hotel [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1286831
Comments: 101
Kudos: 109





	1. Pest Control

**Author's Note:**

> Hi reader!
> 
> You've come a long way. I've reached a point I always wanted to with Thief Anon and Angel Dust - a couple intermixed with slice-of-life shenanigans. This is not another book, but a collection of mini-stories (sometimes longer) handling different subjects and themes. We can go anywhere and do anything now, which is where I've always wanted things to be, really. It will update sporadically and hopefully bring you some enjoyment.
> 
> Please note, this series contains TOTAL SPOILERS for the TSH series.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel Dust and Anon get used to their new home, but find some unexpected guests in the basement.

****

There’s an old building jammed on the corner of Pentagram City.

It’s an old, hand-me-down house, with battered walls and boarded windows. The lawn is small and overgrown with demonic weeds, the front fence wheezes from rust and deformity, the interior has seen better days. Most wouldn’t give this place a second glance, unless they were looking to squat in.

But for a young couple, it was home.

“MUTHAFUCKER!”

A loud _bang_ erupted from the muzzle of a Mossberg shotgun, sending hot lead into the wall, shattering the interior. A pair of yelps followed soon after, intermixed with rushing footsteps.

One figure nearly tripped over himself, eye wide with fear. “WHAT HAPPENED!?”

Angel Dust stared at the hole he’d just made, grunting, hoisting the shotgun over his shoulder. He closed one eye, held up his thumb, swaying his neck from side to side. “Think I got it. . .”

“Angel!?”

The spider swung his gaze to the figure. Said figure was much like a shadow, a wraith that stood at the edge of your sight. His silhouette ate light and it was difficult to make his features, draped in a matching suit. He had a few monikers. Anon, Thief, _husband._

“What?” shrugged Angel, wearing a grin. “Was doin’ a little pest control, dat’s all.”

And then there was the spider. Angel Dust. One of Pentagram City’s biggest adult stars – emphasis on the past tense. Bratty, sassy, bitchy. Loving, kind, sweet.

The couple.

Anon, seeing as how there wasn’t direct trouble, softened. He rubbed his head, looking at the wound in the wall. It wasn’t like their home needed any help with that. The pair had already sunk a small fortune into getting the place _presentable,_ and it was still out of shape. It was a small miracle it hadn’t caved in around their heads already.

“What a _shotgun?”_

Angel looked at said shotgun, musing. “Hmmm. You’ze right. Ya’ think an automatic is better?”

“For what!?”

“Roaches.”

Anon blinked. “Are. . . are these mutated, giant roaches. . . special demon roaches?”

Angel shook his head. “Naww. Just ya’ know, little buggies. Roach-roaches.”

“Okay, uh, how does _poison_ sound? Regular, store bought poison?”

Angel stuck out his tongue. “Borin’, is how it sounds!”

Before Thief could respond, another figure padded into the room, grumbling. She was a “recent” addition to their home. See: first day. Thing was, Angel Dust and Anon weren’t at the Happy Hotel anymore. They had been for a good year, going through trials and tribulations, facing down challenges that threated their lives and everything they cared about. But given those challenges, they wanted a life of their own.

Mynerva, apparently, was a part of that now. She was a sallow-eyed Hellhound draped in a patchy cheap suit, a coat of ash-white fur, solid black eyes, and flowing hair. “Sorry,” she yawned, “are we under attack?”

Anon turned to her. “We’d be dead if we were, _head of security.”_

Yeah, that. Mynerva was apparently an all inclusive “bodyguard” package for the home. Given the reputation both Thief and Angel had in the city, they needed all the help they could get. They weren’t under Charlie’s thumb anymore.

The Hellhound waived him off. “Oh relax. My flawless front-lawn traps would’ve knicked anyone trying to break in.”

She retrieved a remote from her inner pocket, wiggled it, and then pressed a button. There was a resounding _BOOM_ in said front lawn, an explosion sending debris in the air. “See?”

Mynerva frowned. “Oh, shit. Probably shouldn’t have set that one off, huh?”

“Maybe ya’ killed a bug!”

Thief grumbled. “Don’t encourage her.”

The Hellhound cut in. “Killing _bugs._ Is that what’s going on?”

Angel’s smirk morphed to a grin, pumping the Mossberg. “Ya’ fuckin bet, pooch! Nothin’ like some pest control to getcha’ goin!”

“Ohh. Well why didn’t you go to the basement?”

Thief stared at her. “ _What?”_

Mynerva gave an absent nod and pulled free a canteen, taking a swig. “Yeah, don’t you know Earl and Ian? They’ve been here for years.”

“There are _other people living in this house!?”_

“Not people, babe!” Angel cut in. “Roaches!”

Another nod from Mynerva. “Huge ones. They talk, too.”

Now it was Angel who was surprised. “Dey fuckin’ _talk?”_

“Endlessly.”

It dawned on the pair they’d never actually _been_ in the home’s basement. So, with the lure of talking roaches, Angel couldn’t resist. If it was an excuse to shoot something, he’d take it.

A sliver of light tore into the dank darkness of the lower corridor. Dust-caked stairs fell into a dull concrete slab floor. The walls were moldy, cracked, and decorated with various furnishings befitting a comfortable home.

Wait, what?

“Da’fuck is dis?”

Angel’s kinky boots clicked with each step as he trained his shotgun forward, ogling the walls, the carpet, the fancy lamps, the _couches._

“Gugh, shit smells like cheap weed!”

“See, I told you,” Mynerva called from behind. “They’ve been here a while.”

“Why. . . is this better looking than our room?” commented Thief.

It was, of sorts. At least in contrast to the general wreck that was most of the house.

Angel glanced around, in disbelief himself. He only stopped when he saw two large, looming figures, roach-like in complexion, sitting at a table with a game of cards in front of them. Upon seeing the three, they froze.

“Sup boys,” said Mynerva.

Thief stared. “Okay, fuck that.”

Angel snickered. “Ey, sorry for bustin’ in kids, but dis is yer’ eviction notice.”

One of the roaches raised his hands. “Whoa, whoa, hang on, put down the gun, hey yeah?”

The voice was strangely deep, like warm oil. The other one spoke, somehow _deeper._

“Yeah hey, can we at least finish this game of cards?”

A strange pause filled the air, while Angel stared them down. Thief couldn’t believe he was giving the two the time of day, but. . .

“What game?” he asked.

Another pause. Then.

“Uh. Poker, hey yeah.”

Thief took a step forward. “Hold Em’ or Omaha?”

“. . .Omaha, yeah hey.”

Thief nudged his husband. “Kill em’.”

“NONONONO, YEAH HEY!”

“NOOOO, HEY YEAH!”

Angel snorted. “Sorry, I’mma spider, and you’ze two is bugs. What kinda’ rep would I have if I let ya’ live in my basement, rent free?”

One of them, Earl, Ian, didn’t matter, wiggled his antennae. “Wait, t-this is your house now? We didn’t know, yeah hey!”

“We just live here, hey yeah!”

Mynerva yawned. “You two didn’t hear all the commotion a few weeks earlier?

“. . . we just though that was _the machine,_ yeah hey.”

“We live here because of _the machine,_ hey yeah.”

“Oh my god,” groaned Thief, “make this stop.”

Angel aimed. “Okay boys. Any last words?”

“WE HAVE MONEY, YEAHHEYHEYEAH!”

Angel Dust stopped. “. . .how much?”

Thief shook his head. “Angel. Are you serious?”

The spider swiveled and turned to his husband. “Ya’ got any other get-rick quick schemes in ya’ head, pockets?”

“. . .no.”

“You know,” added Mynerva, “that would also help you pay my _very_ expensive legal fees.”

“You’re a bodyguard!”

“What? Oh, right, that.”

A pause filled the air, the two enormous roaches frozen as their “landlords” mulled things over.

“Do. . . do we get to stay, hey yeah?”

Angel gave an uncaring shrug. “Throw in an ounce of dat shit yer’ smokin’ and I’ll pretend I didn’t see ya’.”

“A-an ounce, hey ya?”

Thief crossed his arms. “Yeah, an ounce? We don’t smoke that much.”

Angel gave his husband a nudge. “Says _you._ Besides, we can just, I’unno, sell the extra.”

“It _can’t_ be that good.”

Mynerva interrupted, clearing her throat, tail swaying. “Okay, _boys,_ I have to pretend to do my job. Are we going through this improvised eviction execution or what?”

Angel made eyes at Anon. “Awww, whattya’ say babe? Can we keep em’?”

Thief returned with a long, thoughtful stare, flicking between the roach pair, the spider, and Mynerva. Well, Angel’s opinion was the only one that really mattered to him.

“. . .as long as they pay rent, I guess.”

Angel clapped his gloved hands. “Sweet! You’ze fucks is off the hook! Gratz!”

Earl and Ian gave a sigh of relief, collapsing to the floor. Mynerva grinned too, showing off her rows of gold teeth.

“That was pretty merciful of you, boss man.”

Thief frowned. “We need the money.”

-*-

He looked out at the distant mess of Pentagram City. Back at the Hotel, the view was taller. In this house, not so much. It was a miracle they had running water and working power, too.

Thief leaned over the fencing, a porch on the outside of the master bedroom. He’d taken this position many times before, just in strange places. But this time, it was in a home. His home with his spider.

“Ey babe, Chuck’s special is comin’ on soon!”

He heard Angel Dust call from within the room. By special, Angel meant Charlie had gotten herself a new television spot, celebrating her success with the Hotel. Thief and Angel had promised to watch it.

“Ya’ hear me?” said the spider, coming to Thief’s side, brushing his fluff white hair.

“I won’t miss it,” Anon reassured. “Just thinking.”

“Ya’ do dat too much,” chuckled Angel, nudging Thief. “Anythin’ you need to tell me?”

Yeah, they were much better about communication. Or at least, worked on it a lot. No more secrets or letting things bottle up. Talking it out was a big part of their relationship.

“No, no, hah. Just didn’t expect to be lording over two talking cockroaches.”

Angel touched up his hair fluff with one more brush. “Kehaha, we’ve seen weirder palookas.”

“That’s where the bar is, huh?” Thief returned. “Talking roaches isn’t so bad?”

Angel sneered. “Ey, dey got cash n’weed. S’pretty sweet if ya’ ask me.”

“Honestly, how good can it even be?”

“Baby, dem fuckers can _talk._ Pretty good shit, m’guessin’.”

Thief conceded with a chuckle.

Angel kissed him on the cheek. “C’mon, we’ze gonna miss it. Pooch made us canned pasta er’ somethin’.”

“A feast for kings.”

The two vanished into their home, down to watch Charlie Magne dish about everything the Hotel had done so far. Sure, they were eating canned spahgettios and sometimes the lights flickered and the TV the Hotel donated them was kinda fuzzy. Sure, they had a couple of cabbage-smoking insects in their basement. But it was theirs, their home, their new life.

That’s how it goes.


	2. Kinda Funny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Humor's a strange thing.

“Ya’ know what’s funny?

A pair of figures stared at a cracked ceiling, ignoring the wheezes and whines of the house interior.

“I’m listening.”

The bed they shared wasn’t glamorous, not ritzy. Certainly not the comforts they were accustomed to, not the lavish silk or extra comfy pillows or safety of the Hotel interior. The bed was so-so. Cheap but practical, as were the blankets. There wasn’t a hidden stash of money and jewels underneath them, or elaborate plans, or anything from their old life, really.

“I feel safe.”

Angel Dust and Thief rest together, having turned in for the evening. A dull lamplight washed over them in timid orange hues. Angel was on his husband’s right, to grasp his hand, while Thief had put away his prosthetic for the evening.

“Not the punchline I was expecting.”

Angel turned. “M’serious!”

The spider pushed his head into Thief’s neck, releasing a comfortable sigh. “I mean, like, I shouldn’t yeah? Look at dis’ place. It’s a fuckin’ dump!”

“Hey!” challenged Anon playfully. “We _live_ here.”

“Ya’ know what I mean. Itsa’ work in progress. But it’s like, it ain’t royalty. I _shouldn’t_ feel safe, is what I’m sayin’. I should be lookin’ out da’ window or havin’ trouble sleepin’.”

Anon felt Angel squeeze his hand, fingers playing together. He squeezed back. “Hmm. Well, we technically have a guard dog, now.”

Angel snickered. “Yeah, right. Poochie’s fuckin’ drunk half the day.”

Thief nodded. “Where’s she even getting the hooch?”

“Fuckin’ right? Like, every time I see’er she’s knockin’ back a fresh bottle. She’s got a stash somewhere, I bet.”

“Mm,” murmured Thief with a yawn. “Okay, so not a great source of security. But you still feel safe.”

Angel smiled. His mismatched eyes glistened in the dull-light and his soft, white-fluff features swam up to his husband. Their frames pressed closer, warmth pouring into the other in the way lovers did. Their souls – bound – created a feedback loop. Angel felt safe, so Thief did too.

“Yeah. I’unno. S’nice. Used’ta have to crash in places like these. Ya’ know, shitty one-night motels. I had a fuckhouse apartment when I was uh, with _him.”_

By that, he meant Valentino.

“Kinda’ weird,” Angel continued, “dat I’m in somethin’ similar but, it’s like. Well, it’s not a problem. I like it.”

Thief smiled. “You have more guns than a small militia, hon.”

“Pfffft, so?”

“I figure that’d come into the equation.”

Angel shifted now, rolling atop thief so he could fold his arms on the shadow’s chest, adopting a reflective expression. “Ain’t about dat. It’s cause I’m with ya, and we gots our own joint now.”

Anon took his hand and snuck over Angel’s back, gently rolling it up in down in caressing strokes. He’d feel the delicate sinew and dives of the spider’s curves, stopping short of his haunches.

“You forgot the bugs.”

“Hah! Dey ain’t so bad.”

“Angel, they’re talking _roaches.”_

“And dey got dat good shit too.”

Anon laughed now. “Oh yeah, that’s a real liberal definition of _good.”_

Angel’s spare arms went to his husband’s thighs. “Ey, free weed is free weed.”

Anon couldn’t protest.

“Well, anyway. Just, guess it’s funny t’me. After all the shit we been through. Like, things was worse when we was _in_ the Hotel.”

Thief nodded. “. . .it was a fuckin’ trip.”

His hand travelled further, resting on Angel’s soft bottom. The spider returned with an approving breath, tensing, then relaxing.

“Gonna’ go lower?”

Anon made a face. “You wouldn’t blame if me if I didn’t want to sleep in our spunk tonight, would you?”

Angel titled his head, grinning. “Not if I use my mooooouth.”

Hard to resist. Impossible to resist. Angel’s bare frame was atop him, his soft length resting against Thief’s leg. He could feel it stir, and in turn, so did he. “Mmnf. Is this part of feeling safer?”

“Ain’t nothin’ says safe than blowin’ my husband.”

Couldn’t stop him now. Didn’t want to, really. Thief watched as his spider descended along his torso, planting savory kisses along the way, until he reached his crotch. He clenched and held his breath as those same, warm hot lips came to his length, then his tip, the tongue working against the shaft. He felt his root slip into Angel’s oral chamber as the spider nursed it, beginning to toss and throat the hungry malehood.

It was slow, quiet, but all too needed. There was nothing lustful about it, more Angel drawing something out of his husband, in control. Making his other half feel good, doing it in the world they were creating together. Every grunt and hot moan from Thief spurred him on, encouraging him, until like so many times before, Thief released into Angel with a shudder, buckling motion. Of course, the spider was happy to receive, happy to hear his man, well, happy.

He popped him free, smirking. Thief returned it. “You next?”

Angel flushed. “Wha? Me?”

Even after everything, he couldn’t hold back his blush. Thief wouldn’t take no for answer, and proceed to service his spider. He pulled Angel into his mouth and with increasing skill stroked and serviced the peppermint inches, until, like him, Angel reached orgasm too.

They cleaned afterward and returned to bed, much sleepier now.

“ _There’s_ your punchline, wise guy,” Angel said, nuzzling Anon.

“Clever spider.”

Anon roped his hand around Angel’s shoulder, holding him close as the haze of sleep fell over them. He turned out the light and soon they were resting peacefully.

Didn’t matter that they were in a home that needed _a lot_ of repair work. Didn’t matter that their bodyguard, Mynerva, was passed out on the downstairs couch with a trail of potato chips running off her belly. Didn’t matter that two giant, talking roaches were sparkin’ up in the basement. This was home, and they felt safe.

Kinda’ funny how all that works out.


	3. Silhouette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel's got a new look for his husband.

**Silhouette**

“What’s the big deal?”

If there’s one thing Thief knew he could never win in, one arena that was impossible for him to conquer, it was in the realm of fashion. Or rather, specifically when his husband was the sparring partner. Woe to him to try and counter Angel’s dismissive eyes or critical tongue. Spider knew things: drugs, sex, guns, being a loving significant other. . . and _especially_ fashion.

Angel snorted, holding up a finger. “Number one, smart guy. Ain’t we sposed to be keepin’ a low profile as it is?”

The spider strode around their living room, stretching out arms. “I mean, I can get away with it now all easy like, yeah?” he continued, spinning to look at Anon again. In a flash, Angel shifted from his white-pink form to something like a vantablack silhouette, those same pink markings switching to a deep red, much like Thief. A shadow, a little bit of Anon in his spider, much like how – at least in moments of emotional fury – Thief mutated to have features like his spider.

And as soon as he did it, he “switched” back to normal. “But _you?_ M’sorry, hon, I love ya’ in suits. You’ze a handsome fucker, my big Don an’all dat. But. . .”

Thief crossed his arms. “There’s nothing wrong with how I dress.”

“You look like you stepped out of a noir b-movie that never made it to theaters,” commented Mynerva from the side of the room, who was currently busy filing her toeclaws.

“Stay outta’ dis pooch!” shot Angel, coming closer to Thief. His gloved hands straightened out Anon’s familiar suit and overcoat, the shadowy exterior that had coated him since his arrival in Pentagram City.

“Now, baby. . .” cooed Angel. “I know ya’ all hard-dick about dis get-up. . .”

Anon glanced at himself. “There’s _nothing_ wrong with it,” he protested.

“ _Anon.”_

Thief scoffed. “Angel, I’ve been running schemes and jobs and every plan under the sun with this look.”

“Yeah, yeah. Lissen’, cutie, it’s time for change. Dat hat makes you’ze a big target too, ya’ know?”

Angel Dust looked over the suit, fussing with his husband’s tie, looking over his patch, gazing at the prosthetic. “Ya _almost_ got it down. Member when you’ze was all spook-and-cloak? Back at the Hotel? Wit dat mask thing?”

Thief paused, reflecting. By that, Angel meant the security visor given over by Baxter. It didn’t see much use, given those old circumstances. What that had to do with Angel’s current critique, Thief didn’t know.

“Yeah. . .?”

“Well, got me thinkin’!”

“We don’t’ have one of those lying around, if that’s what you’re getting at, babe.”

Angel wiggled his hands. “Nawww, buuuut. . .”

The spider dawned an expression that looked knowing and full of mischief. “Nooow, don’t get mad, but I did scrape togedder a little scratch and gotcha’ some things. And ya’ gonna look gooood in it babe, I promise.”

Thief was taken aback. Given the state of their home which still needed _so_ much repair work done, he was surprised. “What? How?”

Angel grinned. “Got pooch over dere to front dat cheap weed da’ roachies had. Anyway, ain’t important.”

What was Thief gonna do now? Say no? Reject his husband’s offer? Angel went out of his way to pull together some kind of attire and only a scumbag would look his lover in the eyes and say “hah no.” Still, given Angel’s history with fashion choices, Thief had a reservation of concern.

“Come on, come on!” Angel said with enthuse in his voice, leading Thief upstairs. “It’s in da’ bedroom. Get dem rags off and then show me whatcha’ look like after ya’ dress.”

Thief conceded. “There’s. . . no lace, right?”

Angel snickered. “No promises.”

-*-

It felt an eternity when Thief went to redress. Angel had consigned himself in the living room, legs crossed, texting frantically to Cherri while he waited. Most of the messages entailed his excitement for his husband’s newest attire, along with Cherri’s amusement at the whole thing. For a while, it looked like Thief would never come downstairs and Angel would drag him down by his prosthetic.

But, with an audible footstep, Anon made his way downstairs, the light of the living room washing over his frame. Angel tossed aside his phone and spun, twirling to see his man’s new look. His cheeks flushed.

“Oh.”

Complimenting his shadowy frame, no longer did Anon wear his overcoat and suit. Instead, a padded leather jacket with a woven spider insignia patterned on its shoulder covered his torso. The attire was a mix between classic and modern innovations, something old yet something new. Gloves covered his hands, hiding his prosthetic, while his pants were simple black jeans that operated both as practical wear and maintaining his stealthy exterior.

Mynerva looked over from her seat, eyes wide. “Woof.”

Anon held out his hands, helpless. “. . .well?”

Angel Dust hopped to his feet and blew a kiss. “Awh! _Mwah!_ Baby, look atcha’! Fuckin’ perfect, eh!? Do I know how t’pick a look or what!?”

Thief conceded with a nod. He had to admit, the outfit was cozy and perfectly rugged for dealing with Pentagram City. Suits were good for theatrics, refined approaches, and maintaining an aura of class and intimidation. But considering those days were far behind, it wasn’t as relevant these days. Now? Modern armor for modern times.

“So!?” Angel said, coming to Anon, glancing up and down at his husband. “How ya’ like it!?”

Anon chuckled. “I fucking love it.”

And _he did._

Angel grinned, flushing harder, not only from his husband’s enticing new exterior, but genuinely happy his man liked the attire. His guy was a stubborn fella, liked to cling to his way, but not anymore. Angel pressed forward with a quick kiss, to which Anon gingerly returned.

The spider tapped the jacket’s shoulder. “Did’ja see?”

Anon looked at what he was gesturing to. The woven icon, specifically. “Got that custom stitched! It glows!”

So it did. The lining glimmered hot pink, an eternal reminder that the spider was always a part of Anon.

“You’re amazing, Angel, ya’ know?” Thief said, holding Angel’s slender sides. They embraced, filling the other with warm and love.

“. . .does this mean I get to pick something out for you?” Anon added.

Angel snorted. “HAWHAH! _No.”_

Well, he tried.

[ _Artist Credit_ ](https://tegaki.pipa.jp/s/439153/25084243.html)


	4. Find Your Legs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel makes a discovery and talks it out with Anon.

**Find Your Legs**

Angel thumbed over the screen of his phone, casting it a disdainful glance. A few headers from trash articles scrolled along, all of them surrounding the same subject. Though they appeared naught more than rumors and slander, there remained a possibility to them, a kernel of reality. But if _that_ was so, then what it implied. . .

“You’re still up.”

Angel nonchalantly flicked his phone off and swung his gaze to the speaker. Anon was there, silhouette emerging from the stairs as he entered the living room. Angel Dust had made himself comfortable on one of the “newer” couches they’d picked up (and by newer meaning less holes and by picked up more like acquired through less-than-savory means). The spider smiled, giving no indication of his annoyance.

“Ain’t feel like sleepin’ much.”

A snort interjected, followed by a snore. On one of the couches, Mynerva reclined, sleeping in a stupor, saggy briefs accompanied by a stained tee, potato chips on her exposed fluff belly.

Anon shook his head. “Jesus.” A point to the Hellhound.

“What’s her secret?”

Angel snickered. “Shit booze.”

The spider pat the empty space next to him. Anon, of course, took it and sat next to his husband. He was in attire suitable for sleep. So was Angel, a pink robe hugging his lithe frame, Fat Nuggets asleep nearby. The hour was ungodly, close to one in the morning.

When Anon sat, there was a quiet. A distracted, thoughtful kind. “So. Something’s bugging you.”

Angel’s two spare arms crossed. He didn’t look at Anon, instead settled for the floor. Pensive, wondering. He didn’t deny it, though. No more of that.

If there was absolutely, unequivocally _one_ thing he picked up from the Hotel, back with all that. . . Valentino business. . . back when this whole relationship got started, it was communication. More importantly, it’s necessity. No more secrets or hiding behind veils. They both learned the hard way what that cost, and what it did to each other. More to the point, wasn’t like Angel or Anon could hide their feelings. Interlinked by soul, “feeling” the other was part of the territory.

So yeah. Anon was right. But it wasn’t just _one_ thing.

“Yeah,” Angel said lamely, sighing.

Anon placed a comforting hand on the spider’s leg. “And?”

A hard chuckle left Angel. “I’unno. What? Where do I begin? All of it. Everything.”

“Everything, huh? Damn. Better start somewhere.”

Now, finally, Angel looked to his husband, mismatched eyes going wide. “I. . .”

“Bad?”

Again, defeated, Angel rubbed his temple with fingers. “Fuck, babe, I dunno’, it’s just, shit. All dis’ shit in my head.”

“One step at a time.”

Angel shrugged. “. . .well. Fuck. I’dunno. I feel like should be happier, yeah? We’ze gettin’ this shitshack all fancied up and whatever. Pooch over dere got them bums off the gate corner. New furniture we. . . borrowed. . .”

Anon pat Angel’s leg. “Uh huh?”

Angel shook his head, bitter chortle leaving him. “Fuckin’. Whatever. What am I bitchin’ for? I’dunno. Like I figured I’d be all. . . better. All dat shit, I’d be over it, or somethin’. Or fuck, I’d feel that. . . hit, dat buzz. What am I even sayin’?”

He turned to Anon. “Am I just fuckin’ broken?”

Anon’s eye went wide. “Whoa. Angel. No, of course not.”

Angel rolled his eyes in turn. “Dat’s what I mean. What da’ fuck am I talkin’ about? I guess I’m just, UGH. I’m confused about dis’ and. . . why I’m feelin’ it.”

Anon shifted closer, putting a hand around his husband’s shoulder. “Something happen?”

Angel forced a sad smile. He went quiet for a little while, then gazed at the wall. “Father’s Day was yesterday.”

Anon went a hard, cold quiet, as did the spider. A brief moment of realization filled the room, broken up only by Mynerva’s grumbling snores. Angel didn’t break apart this time, not sob, nor fall apart at the concept, but the memory was still clear as it could be. Given the holiday, the two could’ve been celebrating it, if they still had their Junior.

But, it was the first time he had openly spoke about it. “I know,” said Anon to an unspoken question. “I miss him too.”

He didn’t look at Angel. “Drugs?” By that, he meant, ‘did you take any.’

“Naw. Just. Thinkin’. Makes me think. I hate doin’ that. I don’t like gettin’ in my head, Anon. Ain’t a lotta’ good shit in there, right now. I just. . . I don’t. . . fuckin’ know. We got dis’ shit in front of us, right now. Scrapin’ around. I wanna’ cry for my baby, but I’m tired of that too.”

He leaned into Anon now. “Ain’t sad. Ain’t even mad, ‘sactly. Just. _Am._ ”

“Guilty,” he continued, voice softer. “Should I feel dat way, Anon? Guilty cause I don’t wanna’ be sad all the time.”

Anon shook his head. “Hell no. No. Not at all. Fuck knows you’ve been through it. Literally to goddamn hell and back. Suffering ain’t the way.”

Angel made a face. “ _Ain’t?”_

“Sorry, sorry. Hox might say that.”

“Any other words o’ wisdom from red-rocket?”

Anon gave a small smile. “Let it hit you. Find your legs.”

Angel Dust blinked. “Fuckin’ _what?”_

Anon squeezed Angel tighter now. He took a breath, pulling a drag of that subtle, gentle scene the spider carried, beneath the fluff. It was hard to pick up through the perfume he typically wore, but it was there. Kinda earthy, like rainwater. Uniquely and completely him. Subtle, there, but also not.

“Just means we have to take the storm, Angel. I get it, the shit you’re feeling. Where it’s all fucked upways and downwards. No way through it but to. . . well, get through it. Let it hit, find your legs, then stand. It’s all we can do sometimes.”

Angel gave a single laugh. “Dat advice kinda’ sucks.”

“Hahah, I know.”

“Yeah, really, what kinda’ shit is dat? _Let da’ truck flatten ya’ like sauce and hope you get back up.”_

“Got a better one?”

Angel gave a slow head shake. “Naw.”

“It’s okay to be sad, Angel, about our boy. Fuck knows I remember him every night. I’m afraid of forgetting him. But I do want to be happy. With you. I think he’d want us to be happy too, the little shit.”

Angel sniffed. “Yeah. I’ll tell m’self dat one.”

Another pause. Anon couldn’t help but feel there was another layer, here. So, gently, he prodded on.

“Usually, hon. You’re through half a pack when you feel it like this.”

Angel shrugged. “Mynerva ain’t got my brand.”

“Something else happened.”

Angel went quiet again, and he frowned. A very, very different kind of frown. It wasn’t sad, exactly. It looked angry, even. Conceding, he fished over his Hellphone and flicked it on. Without looking at Anon, he returned to the pages of articles he scrolled past. He wasn’t much a reader, but the headliners were unmistakable.

With that same, angered face, he pushed the screen towards Anon, glancing off to the side. Anon peered at the screen, studying it. As he did, the words processed, and realization hit him.

“What.”

Anon shook his head. “No. No. That’s some tabloid bullshit.”

Angel snapped the phone away, tossing it on the table. “Oh, yeah? _Why?”_

Anon was still in denial. “Angel, _come on._ That’s just some hack job garbage. _Him?_ Really?”

“Ya’ really given them the benefit of the doubt?”

Anon rubbed his head. “It wouldn’t make any goddam sense!”

“Ya’ saw the picture.”

They went quiet again.

“I. . . I mean. . . there’s something we’re not seeing here. . .”

Angel crossed his arms. “All those fuckin’ years, Anon. All of em’. All of the _shit_ dat he put me through. And now cause’ it’s convenient he turns ‘round and pumps prick?”

Anon didn’t have a counter, while the spider shook his head.

“Yeah. So. It was _somethin’._ And all this other fuckshow shit. And ya’ know what really fuckin’ got me, Anon?”

His husband didn’t respond.

“Motherfucker did dis’ durin’ Pride. Up There. Ya’ know that? _That Mother. Fucker.”_

Angel snarled. “Tch. Guess now it’s daddyfucker.”

Anon had to process that too. Admittedly he wasn’t so sharp when it came to matters of pride, identity, and struggles of the homosexual community, but he knew for some it was pretty damn important. Someone like his husband.

“Should I get m’flags and anal-beads out now?” said Angel, burying face in palm. “Throw em’ a little comin’ out shindig and be all happy he made such a big, brave move? I’m fuckin’. . . FUCK! A mess, ya’ know!? All this! And I thought I was done with messes!”

He leaned into Anon. “Just wanted t’fuckin’ live in a house with you. Can’t even do that.”

Anon was still astonished.

“. . .what do you want to do?”

“Whatcha’ say? ‘ _Find your legs?’_ Yeah. Dat’s what. Nothin’. Fucker gets his little happy ending. I’m _sooo_ thrilled.”

Given the context, it kinda sucked having to just ‘take it,’ in a sense anyway.

“That advice does suck.”

“Told ya’.”

Angel groaned, standing. “God I fuckin’ need a smoke. I’mma swipe some shit off the bugs. Ya’ want a roach?”

Anon blinked.

_“Ya’ know what I mean.”_

He shook his head, looking at Angel’s phone. “No, I’m good. I’m gonna get back to bed.”

“Yeah. Well. Night babe.”

Angel leaned and kissed him on the cheek. “I’mma get blitzed and den, I’unno, suck yer dick and then sleep or something’. Don’t snooze without me.”

Anon returned it, of course, but let Angel “take care” of himself. Right now, he was still thinking.

Right now, on the phone, on the results with the trashy articles and their trashier headlines, a rather astonishing fact had come to light:

Notorious Sir Pentious and infamous Arackniss were now a couple, a photograph showing the two clearly engaged in an intimate embrace. Anon didn’t know what to make of that.

So he just let it him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah, THAT ship


	5. Shotgun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel, Anon, and Mynerva blow off some steam.

**Shotgun**

Good way to blow off steam? Make love to your husband. If that’s not on the table? Shoot some shit.

Sounds of harsh _cracks_ followed by the shatter of glass filled the evening air, rounds fired off as muzzles hissed with snaking trails of smoke. Normally this might agitate neighbors, but considering where the shots were – Hell – it was par the course.

“Fuckin’ easy.”

Angel grunted in satisfaction, setting down his summoned _Beretta_ on a fold-out table. There was a spare one he and Anon dug out when cleaning their home, and it would do. An assortment of used firearms rest upon it while the trio took a few shots at used glass bottles. Trio, because Mynerva had joined them.

“Always thought you preferred spray n’ pray,” commented Anon. “You’re scary when you _aim_ , hon.”

Angel shrugged. “Someone hasta’ in dis relationship.”

“Hey!”

The spider nudged his husband. “Quit stallin’, cyclops. Show me watcha’ can do.”

Mynerva, the white furred Hellhound, snickered. “Five says you miss.”

“Ten says you’re full of shit,” challenged Anon.

“ _Atta’_ boy!” snickered Angel.

It wasn’t just venting. Ever since a recent ‘discovery,’ Angel was out of sorts, to say the least. He was agitated, though not at Anon or anyone directly. If rumors were true – and there was hardly a reason to think otherwise – his brother, Arackniss, was in a relationship. So what, right? That runt could stick his dick in whatever slut he wanted.

. . .except it was a _guy_. It was _Sir Pentious._

After that, well, Angel was justifiably miffed. But given how things had gone prior naught but a couple months ago, there wasn’t a whole lot he could do, save focus on living his life with Anon. Sometimes that called for shootin’. As a bonus, it was a worthwhile exercise. Anon and Angel, bound at the soul, shared traits, not just eachother’s companionship and love. Where Anon was much a shadow, blending into the dark as seamless as creek to rivers, Angel was manic, expressive, violent. These characteristics mingled together and essentially gave the other their powers and abilities.

At Valentino’s studio, it came in goddamn handy. Anon had assumed traits like his husband – multiple eyes, multiple arms, the innate ability to conjure weapons (that he knew by memory, at least). But once all that was “settled,” it wasn’t so easy. Perhaps, Thief Anon speculated, it was because he was so emotionally charged. Fury, fear, sadness, they all drove him to the brink, forced him to focus. Now? It was kinda hazy.

The same went for Angel. Angel Dust could, if he focused enough, “shift” to something like a shadowy form of himself. A silhouette of his body, a shadow in the dark. But where his husband, Anon, took such things for granted, for Angel it was hard to maintain. Just more things to learn.

For now, though, the fun part: fuckin’ guns.

The challenge wasn’t just shooting the makeshift targets, it was coming up with the weapon. “Okay,” Anon said with a nod, focusing, “take me through it one more time?”

Angel slid close to Anon and pointed at one of the defiant bottles. “Think of th’gun you’ze most, uh, intimate with. Er, I mean, familiar. Like, ya’ think it and ya can see it in yer head.”

Anon did. “Colt 1911.” American classic and trusty pig-shooter. Steel frame though, none of that polymer shit.

“Good,” continued Angel, “Smaller the better, too. Ya’ can’t summon shit that’s like, uh, bigger than all of ya’, you know what I mean? Ya’ have to be able to fit it in yer um, body.”

Anon blinked. “I. . . see.”

“Yeh. And ya’ gotta be able to lift it too. Nothin’ heavy. So, ya’ got that right? Thinkin’ of ya’ fancy pea-shooter? Just think of it appearin’ in ya’ hand. It’s like tryin’ to work a dick, but ya’ gotta’ find the dick first.”

Anon chuckled. “You want me to think about your cock?”

Angel snorted. “Well, _yeah,_ but also _no_ , not right now.”

Mynerva tapped her paw. “Hey, love birds, come on! I got a pack of cigs on the line here!”

Angel waived her off. “Sit, pooch!”

He returned his attention to Anon. “Got it, cutie?”

Thief shrugged. “Simple enough.”

Save it wasn’t, exactly. Forming material from nothing wasn’t an exact science. He understood the concept – he needed to form a _muscle,_ save the muscle was metaphorical. It was just a matter of doing it. Still, he took his husband’s words to heart. He imagined the 1911 – the one he ran with most of the time when he was alive. Steel frame, filed off numbers, worn down grip from excess use and a notable scrape on its right side from that one type he dropped it after rolling a convenience store.

For a moment, he stared at his right hand (he figured manifesting a weapon in his prosthetic was probably a bad idea). Said hand stared right back, not doing a damn thing. There was silence, save for the distant chaotic sounds of Pentagram City. In that silence, he wondered if he had done something wrong (as he usually did). Then his hand trembled.

A black, viscous cloud of shadowy material blossomed in his palm. Then, it wriggled and expanded before taking shape, first looking not more than a shapeless blob. But Thief focused, realizing he was managing, forcing the idea of the 1911. He froze the weapon in his mind, trying to imagine it from every conceivable angle. Slowly, the handgun coalesced into his hand, his fingers curling around the summoned grip.

He exhaled, heavy breaths escaping him. Holy shit. He felt like he’d run a few blocks. The endeavor, apparently, was quite taxing.

Angel had been watching quietly, the gave a wide, proud smile. He bat his man on the shoulder and kissed his cheek. “Eyy! De’re ya’ go! Fuckin’ pulled it off nice, eh Pockets?”

Anon gave a shaky nod, examining the formed weapon, finger away from the trigger. “Shit. . . is it supposed to be so tiring?”

It wasn’t like that before, after all. Angel just shrugged. “Eh, ya’ get used to it. Takes practice. S’like workin’ a muscle. Or uh, keepin a dick hard, ehehe.”

“No _wonder_ you make it look so easy.”

“Very funny, stallion.”

Mynerva, in the meanwhile, watched with growing disinterest. “Less talky more shooty.”

Anon glanced her way and smirked. “You’re loss.”

So he hoped. By now, he’d done a good job adjusting to having one eye. Funny thing is it wasn’t as hard to get used to as he thought, though he had to take into account perspective sometimes. Still, he took aim with the conjured 1911, squaring it at one of the set-up bottles. He waited, lining it up, taking an extra moment to line up his sight.

“Wait, this is loaded, right?” he asked, suddenly remember that side detail. Angel snickered.

“Yeah, _if ya did it right!”_

“That’s not comforting,” said Anon.

Still, again, he aimed. He felt Angel nudge him with his boot. “Sure ‘bout that?”

Anon blinked. He realized he was off by a few centimeters to the right, only _just_ so. But that, in a firefight, was the difference between life and death. So, thanks to his husband, he corrected and squeezed the trigger. Guess he was lucky he summoned rounds too.

The shot went off and the glass exploded with a satisfying glass shatter. Angel boggled and cheered with a little “ooo!”

Mynverva gawked. “Whoa, hey, time out here! That’s a cheat! You got help! That wasn’t part of the agreement!”

Anon blinked and lowered the gun, surprised he hit the mark himself. He just shrugged. “You should’ve gotten it in writing.”

“That’s just the kind of logic I need on HOWL! Say, Anon, instead of money, what if I make you an honorary intern? I’ll even clip the starting membership fees! It’s a real deal.”

Angel stared. “Oh my god, _pooch,_ just pay up, would ya’.”

Mynverva adjusted her tie. “At this time, I’d like to point out my current financial investments are tied up in offshore equities.”

“. . .da’ fuck?”

Anon sighed. “She doesn’t have it.”

“Pffft,” spat Angel. “Fuckin’ hell. We’re broke as shit.”

“Yeah,” said Anon, tone souring. “Yeah we are.”

He took another shot, but missed, hitting the fence.

“Ugh,” grumbled Angel. “Lemme’ call Chuck and beg her fer money.”

“Angel, no, no, we don’t need to do that.”

The spider wiggled his arms, gesturing around him. “We don’t!? Babe, I think we got like, soup and cigs, and dat’s it. Half the time we’ze blowin’ things on fixin’ this dump up. I mean, either I call blondie or, fuck, I’unno, fuckin’ boil glue offa’ carpet and eat dat.”

Silence. Anon didn’t have much else to say. Angel granted him an apologetic look and turned to go back inside, leaving him with Mynerva.

“Darn,” she said. “I was gonna have cigs for lunch tomorrow.”

Anon chuckled and pulled out one of his, giving it to her. “Here.”

“Thanks! This doesn’t cover my security fees though.”

Money. Always money. Anon stared at the house he called his home. It wasn’t luxurious and it wasn’t the lifestyle his husband was accustomed to. Angel deserved that and more. Meanwhile, his brother was probably living the suite life now with Pentious, if those rumors were anything to go by. Hmph.

“So it doesn’t,” he said, flat and pensive. The gun faded from his hand while he tugged on his jacket – the one Angel had made for him.

“You uh, you alright boss?”

He didn’t respond for a while.

Then.

“Yeah. Just planning.”


	6. Rough Patch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie brings food.

**Rough Patch**

Angel didn’t even get his fingers around the handle before the door swung open.

“I GOT HERE AS FAST AS I COULD!”

A wide eye, if not panicked Charlie Magne, rushed into the living room, her frame crashing into Angel as she hugged him with rather terrifying force. She looked him over, then hugged, then looked him over again, then gave another embrace.

“Ggglllk,” wheezed Angel, “sup Chuck.”

He tried to return her hug, but she’d locked all four of the spider’s arms down with her tight grasp. _“C-can I have my arms back,”_ Angel rasped.

Gasping, Charlie released him, smiling in apology. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Are you okay!?”

Her wide, innocent eyes scanned him over, seeking any blemish or problem. “Are you eating? Do you need food!? WE BROUGHT FOOD! How much money did you need!? Oh I’m so _stupid,_ I knew this place was a problem! We should’ve gotten a better one! Do you need to stay at the Hotel!”

Angel blinked, granting a nervous chuckle. “Whoa, whoa, easy! S’okay, Chuck, it ain’t like dat. We’ze just a little strapped, is all.”

Charlie wasn’t deterred. “ _I have money.”_

“Hey, are you gonna’ help me?”

Charlie’s attention was pulled by another figure entering, the sullen but supportive tone of Vaggie. Vaggie was dressed in a form fitting black jacket this time around, and she gestured behind her. Parked in front of the house Charlie had given Thief and Angel was a long white vehicle, loaded with food items.

Vaggie saw Angel, quirking an eye. “Angel.”

He crossed his arms. “Sup, Vags.”

“Yeah, uh, like I said, there’s stuff. . . are you helping, or. . .?”

Charlie, remembering, nodded furiously. “Yes, please! Angel! Where’s your fridge!? Where’s your pantry!? The Bois are here too, they’ll help. . . RAZ! DAZ!”

In a flash the Princess bounded out the door to the car, Vaggie sighing. She returned her gaze to Angel, then glanced around the interior living room. It was. . . slightly better kept than the previous time they had visited, though the wear-and-tear was still quite obvious.

“I like what you’ve done with the place,” Vaggie said. “Very um. You.”

Angel snorted. “Yeah? Well up yers too, snatch.”

“ _I wasn’t being sarcastic.”_

“. . .oh.” Angel rubbed his arm. “Sorry. Thanks. Sorry, sorry. M’just a little edgy.”

Vaggie looked the spider over. “Are you okay?”

Angel huffed, wiggling a hand. “I ain’t bad, but I ain’t good.”

Before Vaggie could inquire further, Charlie called for her. “Ugh, hang on. We’ve got stuff. Charlie overdid it, as usual.”

Angel smiled. “Oh? Well, hey, thanks, we preesh’, we really do. Ya’ want some help?”

Vaggie waived a hand. “No, it’s alright, the Bois will help. Just keep the door open.”

As the moth-like demonotte went to the car to help her girl, a series of footsteps intruded. Down the main stairs, a figure emerged, the familiar silhouette of Thief. He saw Angel, the open door, dawning a perplexed expression.

“Angel?”

Angel cleared his throat. “Ey’ cutie.”

Thief wandered close, saw the door, then saw the _car._ He looked between the parked vehicle and his husband.

“. . .what’s goin’ on?”

Angel examined a set of his fingernails and shrugged. “Didn’t feel like eatin’ canned shit for dinner no more so called Chuck. I told ya I was gonna’.”

Thief blinked. “Wait, what? Hang on, we don’t need handouts!”

Angel gave him a look. “Ain’t a handout, wise guy. ‘Sides, uh, _yeah we kinda’ fuckin’ do._ What was we gonna’ eat tonight?”

Thief didn’t respond at once. “We. . .”

The spider tilted his head. “What, babe? We _what?_ Stop bein’ stupid n’stubborn. We need help.”

Thief so desperately wanted to say “no we don’t.” Badly. But that’d be a big lie. The house repair costs took _everything_ and it still wasn’t enough. Sure, Thief could whip up cheap meal and make it last for days, but it was just surviving. And in the back of his mind, he was tired of surviving.

But worse? It was no good for Angel.

“Well, we’re not taking their money,” said Thief after a moment. Angel nodded.

“S’fair.”

Charlie bustled in soon afterward, carrying boxes of food, along with the Bois who bleated their greetings. Vaggie waved to Thief before the rest of the supplies were hauled in. It was more than enough, to the point where the fridge and pantries were swollen with groceries, food, and emergency supplies. Mynerva appeared, _eventually,_ brandishing a dual-barreled shotgun, brandishing in lazy fashion.

“I heard intruding voices when I found a birdcage in our garbage,” the Hellhound stated. “. . .but everything’s secure, right?”

Angel hacked a single laugh. “You’ze da’ worst’ fuckin’ bodyguard, pooch.”

Mynerva tilted her head. “Bodyguard?”

Proceeding this, the Bois whipped up an elaborate meatloaf with fresh earth-made ingredients, then a dumpling stew, and then an apple pie just for good measure. Said food was set on the shoddy living room table that passed for the dinner quarters while Vaggie and Charlie sat opposite of Angel and Anon.

Angel jammed a bite of the meatloaf and his eyes rolled up in ecstasy. “Hllfmffee fkk. . .” he moaned.

He swallowed. “Fuck! S’almost as good as fuckin’!”

Charlie beamed. “You should’ve called us sooner!”

Thief ate too, and damn, it was a real meal. Had it been so long since he and Angel had something quality for once?

“It’s okay,’ Thief insisted. “It’s just a rough patch. We expected it.”

Angel, wolfing his food down, sighed and nodded. The girls brought wine too, which he helped himself to with a _generous_ glass.

“Yeah,” Angel intoned. “S’real fuckin’ wild west out here, roughin’ it n’shit. Didn’t figure it’d be all _peachy keens_ and nightclubs.”

The spider licked his lips, eyeing his burgundy wine before taking another swig, cheeks starting to flush. “Ain’t paradise. But uh. . . s’kinda a paradise, get it?”

Vaggie chuckled. “Getting drunk already?”

“Noooo,” he protested. “I just mean, like, I’m with m’guy, so. Whatever. We can fuckin’ deal. But um, food _is_ nice.”

Thief Anon nodded. “Yeah. Thank you, Charlie.”

Begrudging handouts aside, he would never abide by wasted food. That was a grievous sin, almost unforgivable.

She shook her head. “Please, _please._ Any. Time. You just call, okay?”

Even now, even after the pair had left, Charlie still doted. Thief didn’t blame her, she was always that way.

They took a while to catch up. The Hotel was doing well – a few new guests had arrived, and things were stabilizing. Repairs – after the fiasco with Valentino – were also finished, though Sarakk’s damage was extensive. On those two, Charlie mentioned the pair had gone missing after the studio’s destruction. Though, considering half the city wasn’t turned upside down, she wagered the old Nephilim had run away with this bun. So they assumed.

“Everyone’s getting into taking selfies now,” Charlie continued, sipping her own splash of wine. “It’s cute!”

Angel, a little sloshed, blinked and laughed. “Wahaha, wait, really?”

Vaggie nodded. “Yep. Even Husk.”

“Well, sort of,” added Charlie. “Nifty got him one. She insisted.”

Angel roared with laughs, his legs wiggling. “No fuckin’ way! Ahaha! I gotta’ see dis! What’s da’ handle!?”

And like that, the trio dove into a mini-gossip session. Angel speared into the Hotel’s profiles, his grin widening as he looked through pictures, selfies, and posts made by people in the Hotel. Alastor was notably absent. . . for now. Once this happened, Thief was lost.

“Awww, ahaha,” Angel jeered, thumbing through a few Husk photos. “I miss givin’ ol whiskers some shit. De’ze pictures _suck!”_

Charlie encouraged the idea. “You should! You _both_ should! It’d be nice of you two to visit!”

Thief laughed. “I think the idea of getting out on or own is stay on our own, _mom.”_

“But you’re hardly eating!” she protested.

The spook sighed, conceding. “We’ll. . . plan on it.”

Angel glanced up from his phone, slow-blinking. “Yeah?”

Thief looked back, in such a way he was making a decision _with_ his partner, not for him. “If you want.”

There was no finalization to the decision, but it was open, at least. The rest of the evening went well. Fat Nuggets oinked into existence and hopped in Angel’s lap, who pat and babied him incessantly. The drink loosened tongues and most of what the gathering discussed were drunk ramblings and jokes. Good feelings, those old-time feelings, those kinds of feelings you sometimes want to get back to. Tempting, it was, to remember the Hotel and desire to live there again, if only for a while.

Eventually, though, the duo had to say their goodbyes. Charlie hugged Thief and Angel with alarming strength and nearly bawled, consoled only by Vaggie. Again and again the Princess insisted they call if anything was needed until pried away by Razzle and Dazzle. Once gone, Angel and Thief closed the door, their kitchen stocked.

“Dat was nice,” mused Angel, cheeks rosy. “S’good d’fuckin’ roachies didn’t come up here.”

“Jesus, Charlie would’ve screamed.”

“Naw she’d be put t’sleep what with dat _yeah-hey, hey-yeah_ bullshit.”

Thief chuckled. “Think she’d take a hit?”

The two wandered back inside, scuzzed. “Who? Blondie?”

“Yes, blondie.”

“Ahahahahahah!”

The idea of a high Charlie sent them into a tizzy of laughter.

Given the night had gone well, given that the two had stomachs full of food, and given they were loaded with wine. . . the bedroom was appealing. It didn’t take long before the two embraced, much in a way that was birthed from lust. Who would’ve thought food gave fuel to fucking?

It was quick, hot, and needed. Kisses came first, soft lips meeting. Thief – careful with his prosthetic – caressed Angel’s lithe sides, locked with him in a hold. He pulled down Angel’s panties, yanked up his skirt, incurred a surprised but delighted gasp, and explored.

Wasn’t long before Angel pressed his fluffy chest into the bed, mounted by his husband, and the rest was slow but forceful thrusting intermixed with the demanding, heavy moans of the pair.

Sleep came better than it had in a while. So did they.

For a while, at least. It was a distraction.

In the deep recess of night, Angel’s eyes pulled open. He stared at the ceiling, his mind fuzzy with agitation, remembering.

He spoke, voice raspy and hard. “I wanna’ fuckin’ see him.”

Thief wasn’t asleep. “When?”

He already knew who Angel was talking about.

“I’unno. But I got fuckin’ words.”

Thief could only imagine. “We’ll make it happen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can FEEL the drama percolating.


	7. For Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sir Pentious and Arackniss collect the remains of the spider's old life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A NEW PAIR APPROACHES

**For Now**

“How _exactly_ did you survive this detestable state of affairs?”

A pair of figures wandered through halls once esteemed. Well, one walked, the other slithered. Surrounding them were rooms and corridors, broken and ruinous. Once they were filled with accented voices and classical music, littered with the ambiance of clicking glasses. The stench of hard drink and good cigars would often waft over luxurious furnishings while suited figures lounged about, discussing their affairs, sometimes business, sometimes not.

Now? Empty and barren. Most of the lights no longer worked, many of the windows were cracked, furnishings either broken, stolen, or gone. One of the stairway’s leading to the upper floors had fallen in and there were several gaping holes in the ceiling. Barren were its safe boxes and hidden vaults, wealth stripped by vultures and lesser thieves. It had been, for all intents and purposes, abandoned. Save for one lone attendant, clinging to the shattered remains of his old life.

“I manage,” came the curt, rough reply.

“Oh, no, no, this won’t do,” said the snake with a hissing rebuttal. “He who is associated with my great name won’t stroll about in _rags.”_

A hard chuckle. “ _Associate?”_

Sir Pentious, accompanied by a squad of doddering Egg Boys, turned and smirked at his companion. “You _know_ what I mean.”

Said companion tried to smile, but couldn’t. Instead, he looked around, gazing one last time at the shattered remains of his old life, his old world. He really was desperate to cling to it, wasn’t he? So much he’d live in absolute squalor, surviving on scraps of wealth.

Sir Pentious snapped his fingers, calling his minions to attention. “Scavenge this dumpy den of decrepit dwellings!”

The Egg Boys wailed in praise, running around in circles, before setting to their task. Arackniss wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about his home getting “scavenged” but, considering things, guess it could be worse.

Pentious looked around before facing Arackniss again. “Is there _anything_ left of value here?”

Arackniss grumbled. “Memories.”

“Oh, come now.”

Arackniss thought for a moment. “. . .well, I still have a stash of Exterminator’s Blood.”

Pentious’ eyes widened, practically sparkling, before he gave a fiendish – if not comical – laugh. “Ohohoho, ‘Nissy! How _perfect!”_

Arackniss yanked his hands out of long coat pockets, raising them. “Now, hold on, don’t get too excited. I had to use some a while ago, so there’s not much left.”

Sir Pentious wasn’t perturbed. “Even a _drop_ of that invaluable ichor is more than enough for our plans!”

Pentious titled his head. “. . .plans?”

“Of course!” exclaimed Pentious, gesturing wide. “Building a new empire for a new age! From the ashes a dynamic duo rises, stripping control of the _West Side_ and placing it firmly in our grasp! Nary a single sinner can stand against our collective might!”

Well, that was all quite theatrical. And _generous._

Was this even real? Arackniss had difficulty processing it, sometimes. Wasn’t so long ago he was not much better than street vermin. He’d fallen _so_ astonishingly far, fallen from the graces of _The Family,_ losing his power, his place, his home. . .

His brother.

He hadn’t told Pentious all the details yet. In a way, he couldn’t bare to. When _The Family_ fell apart, they – in desperation – turned to a madman. Said madman used them like pawns, seeking his own goals. But what Arackniss did in hopes he might return the Family strength back to their golden days, what he did to take control of the Commission?

Sometimes, the faces of those children haunted him. When he looked at Sir Pentious, he saw a stylish, suave, _sexy_ overlord. Sure, he was a sinner but in his own mustache-twiddling way. A snake of his own ambitions. He’d never do something like what Arackniss had. . . right?

And gods, that wasn’t even the half of it. The years Arackniss stood idle while his father smeared Angel’s name. The years _he_ partook of it. He tried to assault the spook, for fuck’s sake.

But here he was. With someone. A man. Yes, a snake man, but a man, all the same. It was so much to process in such a short time frame.

“Collective might?” said Arackniss, managing a snicker. “Penny, I’m flattered.”

Pentious sneered. “Knowledge is _power._ I know this blundering city like the back of my tail! I’ve been beyond the City Horizon and back! And now I have _you!”_

Arackniss cleared his throat, heart skipping a beat. “I’m not so sure my dashing good looks and dry wit can carry us to victory.”

The cobra tapped his head. “You have names and you know the city too. _That alone_ gives us the element of SURPRISE!”

Well he was. . . sort of right? All things aside, Arackniss was familiar with various contacts throughout Pentagram City. Granted said contacts were harder to find. After the _Chigurh_ was robbed, their wealth spiraled into freefall. Other outfits and such held on, of course, but they were tiny pockets of power, not really the powerhouse you needed to make an empire much less claim control of an entire side of the City.

“You _are_ full of surprises, Penny.”

“Oh yes,” added the serpent. “ _This_ is the start of something _beautiful!”_

Arackniss gazed at the handsome features of his companion, managing a smile. Yes it was.

Still.

“I just remembered,” said Arackniss, “I have something from my room I need to get.”

Might as well, this was likely the last time he’d ever step foot in the estate. Pentious waved him off. “Don’t be _looooong.”_

He wiggled his body. Hah, funny.

Arackniss carefully made his way upstairs, glancing around at the damage while he padded towards his old room. Brr. Last time he was here, he was watching a _living weapon._ The eyes of that. . . creature followed him, even now. How did his brother get wound up with those psychotic things anyway? Ah, well.

Hmm. Brother.

Angel. . . _Anthony_ stayed in his thoughts more than he wanted. But he couldn’t really escape it, now could he? After everything, it left him with a sense of deep, cold guilt. Worse yet, though, fear and anxiety. He was no fool, he saw the rumors, the articles, the tabloids, the _pictures._ Their implications were correct, he was _with_ Pentious, in all sense of the word. And with those implications came consequences – if he’d seen them, well, likely so did his brother.

Wasn’t like Arackniss to fear anyone in Hell, unless it was his father. But the idea of confronting Angel, or rather, Angel confronting _him,_ he didn’t know what to make of it. Their last encounter was, in fact, here, but for different means. It didn’t end on a negative note, not exactly, but it wasn’t a high one either. Sorrowful. Sorrowful because Arackniss had unknowingly taken something precious away from Angel, among things. He wondered, did Anthony even forgive him for that?

_You can’t just let yourself be happy?_

These thoughts too plagued him, challenging the ghosts haunting his mind. He deserved happiness too, didn’t he? He gave _everything_ to the Family. _EVERYTHING._ His life, his loyalty, his name. He sacrificed so many people and so many opportunities. When Angel decided to be, well, _Angel,_ it was Arackniss holding the empire alive.

Never did he live for himself, only others. Now he had something. Small, but something. Never thought it would be with fucking _Sir Pentious_ of all demons. Guess he could do worse. . .

But still, what lie ahead was unclear, save for one thing: he’d see Angel again, by choice or not. He didn’t know what to make of that.

He just tried to remember something Angel said when they last had it out, near a year ago.

_“I don’t wanna’ fight you.”_

Arackniss didn’t want that, either. Henry, their father, was effectively out of the picture. Even Arackniss didn’t know his whereabouts. What he _did_ know was that without the hulking, obstinate asshole around, his artificial divisions were effectively gone. So maybe. . .

He returned to his room which was in utter disrepair. There was only one thing he wanted. A small picture in his drawer, gray and faded. The last picture of he and his brother together, back when Anthony played piano.

Did he still play that song he used to sing?

He returned to Pentious quickly afterward, where the serpent “stood” idle with his Egg Boys carrying trails of supplies hither-and-dither like wobbly ants. The sight of his obsidian lover, at least, was enough to put him at least. _There_ was a self-made man - intelligent, driven, if not a complete doof.

“Find your treasures?” said Pentious, flicking off a bead of dust from his suit. Arackniss nodded, also holding out a box.

“I did. And this.”

He opened said box to reveal three vials of bright gold liquid. Pentious gazed at them, eyes sparkling again.

“Ahhhh. . . the _delicious_ ichor?”

Arackniss nodded. “The Exterminator Blood.”

Wasn’t much. He had to use some of it to “help” the Thief. But fuck it, he was tired of working under the heel of powers over him. That was his life story. No more.

Pentious sneered. Not in a goofy way, in a terrifying, malicious sort of way. Ah, Arackniss could fall in love again.

“This changes _everything,_ Alessandro.”

The spider’s heart fluttered. He felt. . . hopeful, even with all the potential Angel business. Of course, he didn’t know what Pentious was planning yet, but, in time, he would.

“Heh. Well, what now?”

Pentious waved a hand, dismissing his surroundings. “Tea, preferably. And a hot shower, egads!”

Ohh a hot shower _did_ sound nice.

“For two, right?”

One of the Egg Boys stopped and made a sound. _“Ooooooooooo.”_

Pentious cleared his throat and flushed. “Not in front of the babies.”

He folded his hands together, leaning close so only Arackniss could hear. “But. . . _yes.”_

Arackniss actually managed to smile, tucking the photo away in his inner pocket as the duo left his estate one last time. Once airborne, Arackniss looked down at the silhouette of the artifact, a shadow of his old life.

“. . .Penny?” he said, looking out the zeppelin’s window.

Pentious was busy setting coordinates and activating the levers to the ship’s power mechanism. “Hmm?”

“. . .I want to ask you something.”

“Mm? Yes? What? Ssspit it out, sweetie, we’re missing tea.”

Arackniss huffed. “Can. . . _can you **fucking blow that house to fucking smithereens?** ”_

Erase it. he wanted nothing more. Remove it, destroy it, set it ablaze. Arackniss – _Alessandro -_ needed it no longer. He wanted it gone. He wanted the City to know.

Pentious blinked, tilted his head, then, gave a maniacal laugh. “Hah. Ah hah hah HAH! Well, that’s the kind of delicious _evil_ I like to hear!”

Pentious grabbed his weapon mechanisms and lunged the apparatus forward. _“Delighted to oblige!”_

What followed was a beautiful symphony of destruction, a pillar of pink, energetic smoke-and-fire erupting into the sky like a defiant middle finger. The manor was there, and in a single stroke of vaporizing energy, no longer.

[For the first time in a long time, Arackniss was happy. For now, at least, he’d let himself feel this way.](https://youtu.be/Mf4_LB32M6Q)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mmm yes


	8. Familiar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Embracing the "old times" for a night, Angel and Anon have a drink or thirteen.

**Familiar**

Some of that good ol’ familiar. Those classic nights, those sinful nights, just to forget for a while, cause’ Devil knew things were shaky right now.

[Deep, thrumming sounds of a night club.](https://youtu.be/mh3CAwysZgM) Little room to themselves, the dark and lights playing against their frames. Hidden and protected, familiar. Also simple, not so complicated. Reminded them of times when things weren’t so complicated. When they were just gullible lovers getting caught up in shit over their heads.

Thief scraped together what he could without “acquiring” it through his usual means, enough he and Angel could take a night to themselves. They got a little room, they got their music, and they had the night. That was enough. It was plenty.

Angel was already a few drinks in. Several empty cans of _Peechy Keens_ littered a table, a few _Old Wheskers,_ and a _Heartbraker._ Thief liked his drinks simpler, so settled on cheap whiskey and what passed for Coke Down Here. Did fine. Gave them both a buzz. Enough to pull them out of their “situation.” Not that it was _terrible,_ per say. All things considered, having a home together that wasn’t falling apart with food in the fridge and a bodyguard (even a shitty one) was more than one could hope for in Hell.

But plenty of other things lingered in the background. Thief could tell the brother business was getting to him, among things. He wanted the world for his spider, to see him happy. So for at least a night, he wanted to let go with his husband. Sometimes you had to forget to remember. Or something.

Angel knocked back another can of his drink (they had a whole case delivered), cheeks flushed red, body swaying. “Gnn, fuck, ain’t had one of these inna’ while!”

Thief had his boots up, Angel’s jacket snug on his frame, a wisp of cig smoke leaving his lips. “I’ll remember to keep it in stock, hon.”

Angel shook his head before finishing it off, wiping his lips and gasping. “Naw, ahaha, naw, s’kay! I just get wasted on dis’ shit, real fuckin’ party drink. Prom queen killer, ahaha!”

He tossed the can aside, loosening his top. “Cherri n’me got fucking _destroyed_ slappin’ these fuckers back.”

“I thought you two _just_ destroyed?”

“Oh dat too. Bitches be on fire when we was done, nehe!”

Thief looked around. “We uh. . . planning some of that tonight?”

He wasn’t against it, per say. Spider gets what spider wants tonight, as far as he was concerned. He just wanted to know in advance.

Angel gave a slow, drunk blink, looking around. “. . .naaaaaaaaaaah. Music ain’t bad.”

True. Had a dark, alluring thrum too, wicked and sinful. Like they were, right now. Easy to forget they were still fucking demons, after all. Hopefully demons fucking soon.

The interesting thing was how the lights and dark played on them both. Bound at the soul, qualities of the other wove into their frames, their silhouettes. When lights shifted and flashes of shadow washed over Angel, his white fluff shifted to a pitch black, like Anon. But his marks – the pink bands and shapes and lines – those surged through the dark like bright lights of pink and magenta. It gave him an alluring, exotic quality, a dancer in the dark, perhaps like he was well before he knew Thief.

Thief wanted to see the rest. “You gonna’ stand there or sit in my lap?” he commented, putting another drink back.

Angel snickered, laughed, and straddled Anon, pushing his curvy haunches into lap. “We goin’ for a ride, stallion?”

Thief pressed back with a kiss, nipping at Angel’s neck and huffing. “Mmm, when’s the last time we went down a trail. . .”

His prosthetic and hand gripped Angel’s rump, harsh, incurring a small yelp from Angel. “Nnn! Fuckin’ grabby!” he slurred.

Shit, when was the last time they got like this? Couldn’t remember. It had all been management and budgeting and “responsibility.” Imagine that, a robber and a hooker trying to play it straight! But after a while, they had to remember their nature. They were still sinners in a sinful world. Felt good to get back to it, if only for a little while. In a club? Fuckin’ hell you better believe in a club.

“Bite me, bitch,” challenged Thief, eager.

Both were in it, swimming in all that drink and lust. Angel hissed, sneering. “You’ze fucked up tonight ain’tcha?”

Anon grinned back. “You gonna’?”

So, Angel did. Fangs – gold and all – sank into neck like they had many times before. The dark blossom of pain coupled with its exciting touch forced a hiss out of Thief and he caressed Angel’s back, the exposed fluff pressing into his chest. He snuck a finger under Angel’s skirt, worked the panties down, prodding for the exposed hole, feeling Angel grow hard against him.

“Nsshsh, mmf,” Angel moaned, parting legs, wrapping spare arms around his husband. “Hang on, fucker,” he snickered, “ya’ ain’t goin’ dry.”

Thief was a little coherent, enough he felt Angel unfasten him from pants, pull his inches free, and take the erection into mouth. Warm, electric pleasure arrived afterward, coupled with the muffled suckling sounds of his lover, albeit in a sloppier, hungry sort of way. Angel looked wicked and that was fitting. They both did.

Once “prepared,” Angel raised his supple rump and pushed atop the shaft, allowing Thief to bury himself into the spider. Slick, soft, and hot. They held a moment, Thief twitching in the tunnel before Angel settled on a slow, steady moment. Not too fast, enough every stroke, every rise and fall of his backside, every inch of cock, was felt.

Couldn’t really hear the two over the deep bass and dark chorus of the music, but didn’t matter. The two collapsed into each other, shadows, pink, red, blending and flashing and thrusting. Some of that good old-fashioned feeling. Something to peel off the world, if only for a while.

-*-

Mynerva boggled, parking opposite of. . .

“Oh, fuckdiddlydoo.”

Was that them? Yeah, sure was. Two drunken idiots, hanging off each other, struggling to stand. Behind them? Ah, nothing huge, just a _whole goddamn building on fire._

She yanked open the passenger door and grabbed them: Thief and Angel.

“I can’t believe you two committed mass murder without me!”

“Nnf,” slurred Angel, “Weeee’ze just havin’ n’little scuffy, yeah? Yeah. . .”

“Ahah,” chuckled Thief (kind of), rubbing his head with prosthetic. The metal arm dribbled with sticky scarlet blood and flecks of glass were on his face from a previous blow.

“Gaaaave em’ a rumble,” he sloshed. “Fucked em.”

“And den we fucked!” chortled Angel, almost falling, caught by his husband.

“Nonono,” mumbled Anon, “We did that _befooore.”_

“Please get in the car,” groaned the Hellhound. “I don’t get paid if you’re dead.”

She managed to get the pair in, who rather tripped and flopped into the backseat. With haste, Mynerva revved the engine and vamoosed, leaving behind the pillar of screams and fire.

“Nobody saw you two, right?”

The pair curled their arms around the other. “Uuuummmmm. . .” gurgled Angel.

“Ahmshureitsfine,” slurred Thief.

Mynerva looked at them through the rear-view, shuddering. That was uncanny of them, how they laughed off so much. . . violence. Guess they slipped back into the old familiar, if only for a bit. Easy to forget who they were or what they could do, even as a joke.

“I’m writing this up as overtime.”

They didn’t hear, passed out.

Hmm. Maybe for the best.

Something was on Pentagram City’s social media, a post from. . . Vox.

Mynerva glanced at it while driving _just_ to be sure, thumbing over the picture. In it, a grinning (though damaged) television face waving at the viewer. Behind him, in a hospital bed, ravaged and hooked to a few support systems was the grievously injured but still living body of, well.

Valentino.

 _“Haha idiot finally woke up!”_ read the text.

Now Mynerva didn’t get into political affairs – that didn’t look good for the sole owner and CEO of HOWL. But uh, even she knew that news of Val and the pair of loving nutjobs behind her didn’t mix well.

“I need a drink or twelve,” she grumbled, flipping off another car _she_ cut off. “Something. . . old fashioned.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, HIM again.


	9. Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel catches up with Cherri Bomb while Thief learns something. Valentino regains consciousness.

**Moment**

How long?

Days? Weeks? _Months?_ Consciousness fading in and out, days passing by in a muddy blur of color and darkness. Sounds didn’t process, memories didn’t stick, up was left, tomorrow was yesterday. Breathing. Forced breathing. Wounds. Grievous, deep, _painful_ injuries. Life support. Life support from the finest resources in Pentagram City. Life support from _other realms._ Was he even alive, or simulating it?

He groaned and gurgled, breathing raspy. Finally, his cruel, blank eyes focused, a room materializing around him. Wires and machines drove themselves into every part of his body, heartbeat monitor chirping over the drone of medical apparati. As reality returned, the clouds from his mind fading, some sense of understanding return to him, a single, burning thought raced back to him.

_ANGEL._

Valentino clenched his hand. Or did he? It was hard. Very, very hard. Everything was, and not in the good way. He stared, and realized he was looking at the ceiling of a room. A hospital room? No, no, nothing like that really in Pentagram City. It was. . . a private room, quite lavish, a blitz of gold and lavender and reds. There were comforts and fineries only an Overlord like him could afford. He trained his head from left to right.

Every conceivable device to support every molecule of his demonic frame was there. Blood transfusions, lung support, sacrificing micro-souls to feed his own, electromuscular support, nerve scanners, _everything._ What. . . what happened!?

He tried to remember. Tried to navigate the messy, unclear forest of his mind. Only the clear, crystallized idea came back: _ANGEL._

Angel. Dust. Spider. The thing that. . . belonged. . . to. . .

His head hurt and brain pounded. A shrill whine filled his skull. It agonized him to recollect.

Another sound caught his attention. A door opened, shifted, and a silhouette stepped through. Tall and lithe, elegantly dressed in a medical attire, a slender demon sauntered through. They looked over the medical devices, scribbling down notes, until they noticed the now-conscious Valentino.

A slow blink. “Oh. . . awake. You’re awake? Good. You had visitors, they mentioned you regained consciousness, if only momentarily.”

Valentino tried to listen, though it pained him to do so.

The. . . doctor? They stepped close, taking a seat, checking Val’s eyes. “Can you understand me?”

Val grunted. This was annoying. But his voice was raspy, dry, and unused.

“I see.”

More note scribbling. “Do you know where you are?”

Val attempted to say no, though the utterance was difficult.

“Mmhm.”

The attendant cleared their throat, crossed legs, and sighed. “Val, do you. . . know what happened?” they said, soft and slow. Val gave a tedious head shake, all he could currently manage.

The stranger paused, reflecting, mulling over just _how_ to break the explanation down. After a moment or so of reflection, they stood. They strode to the wall, lit a panel, and on it were a series of charts and x-rays.

“You’ve suffered injuries that, in my medical opinion, I would call _otherworldly._ It’s kind of impressive, honestly.”

Val blinked. What?

“A month ago, give or take. You see here? You were, quite literally, torn in half.”

They tapped an image which depicted a grisly photo of Val, well. . . butchered.

“The. . . nature of this injury was strange. Your torso and lower body were separated. Your entrails and essential organs pulled out, bones eviscerated, trauma suffered, blood loss, etcetera. I say strange because the injured appeared, well, as though you were attacked by an Exterminator.”

It was hard for Val to believe or accept what he was hearing. But, looking down, _now,_ at his lower body, it was. . . a mess.

“Holy injuries cannot be repaired. . . by usual means. But _these?_ They were so _pure,_ you basically were dead. You were dead a hundred times over. You, though, have a _very_ deep pocket and every single resource and expense was used to keep you alive.”

They wiggled a finger, grossly fascinated. “We’ve had to _force_ your body to regenerate and, frankly, Val, you haven’t technically ‘existed’ for the past several weeks. This really is all amazing.”

Val wanted to scream at them to leave. He could not.

But more than anything. . . he wanted to know what happened to _Angel._

The studio. . . it was a fuzzy image in his brain. Then fire, then. . . what? Voices and things and images all mixed and missing. Urgh.

He managed, with every ounce of conceivable strength he had, to touch his jaw, his mouth. His gold tooth.

His gold tooth which was no longer there.

Rage consumed him. All he could do was sit in a stew of his own fury as the attendant rambled on.

He _refused this._

-*-

He _loved_ this.

Angel swung his legs with excited gusto, kinky boots clicking against the pavement as he strolled with his bestie. Well, his _other_ bestie. Lettin’ go for a bit, just like he did with Thief. Now, it was back to basics, making good time with Cherri Bomb.

God, it had been ages since they got to genuinely pal around. Though the spider couldn’t give into _complete_ chaos and havoc, a little trouble never hurt anyone. Heh.

“Can’t believe ya’ got off the leash, Angie.”

Usually, the side streets of Pentagram City were a bad option to wander around on, consider what happened to the spider a while ago. But, this was Cherri’s turf, and she planned to keep him safe. They had catching up to do, and he made it clear that he needed to let his husband know where they were headed. Anon trusted Angel, but caution was _still_ important.

“Right? N’usually I love dat shit.”

They wandered a while before coming to a vacated building, traversing its steps until reaching the roof. It gave them a good look at the city’s horizon, where Angel lit a cig, sipped it, and grinned.

He perched his haunches on the balcony edge, gestured to her, and smiled. “Dish girl. How ya’ been!?”

She shrugged, managing a smile. They left things in a good spot last time they met, and, Cherri came over once to check out the new home digs. But it wasn’t _quite_ like the old days.

“Usual fuckery and blowin’ stuff up. Been trying to find a partner in crime but man they all _suck.”_

Angel’s head wobbled with laugher. “Dahah, can’t find another showstopper, eh?”

“You’ve always been the best.”

Angel pulled out another cig and offered. “Mm?”

“Hah. I vape.”

 _“Pffffthaha_ of course ya’ do.”

She slid up next to him and looked out to the city. “Thanks for hangin’ out tonight, Ange.”

“Aww, ya’ kiddin? You’ze a fuckin’ blast, bomber girl.”

Cherri chuckled. “Even if we’re not blasting?”

“You know it.”

She snapped her fingers. “Oh, speaking of! Get this, one of those clown crews running my turf found an old B-Bomber! Legit old school! Thinkin’ of flying that toybox and fuckin’ stuff up napalm style!”

Angel saw the excitement in Cherri’s mono-eye, and it certainly warmed his chest to see her excited about something. “Wohoho shit, never figured ya’ for an agent orange type.”

“I mean, I’m dyin’ the shit pink.”

_“Atta girl!”_

She chuckled. “Honestly, Angie, get yourself a squad. I don’t even run a chop shop and I’ve got these wannabes doing stuff for free. I think they expect to get laid, or something.”

Angel took a puff, blowing a long wisp of smoke. “. . . any cuties?”

“Nobody my type.”

Angel tapped his chin, thinking, then snapped a spare finger. “Oh! Ya’ wanna’ hook up with a pooch? We got dis’ Hellhound bitch runnin’ security fer us. She’s like, da’ fucking _worst,_ but. . .”

Angel mimed a curvy shape, implying a woman’s supple body. Cherri squinted back, considering.

“She’s. . . thick?”

Angel shrugged.

“Yeah, well. Maybe.”

“Think it over,” continued Angel. “And anyway, hah! Ain’t never been much for knock-offs. I’m da’real deal, ain’t nobody the OG Angel, ya’ know?”

“One and only Super Bitch.”

“You fuckin’ know it!”

More laughter, more catching up, chewing the fat as friends did. Lighthearted and pleasant. Eventually, though, Cherri shifted, out of concern and curiosity for her friend.

“Hey, um. I heard about it.”

Angel blinked, flicking the butt of his cig away, realizing what Cherri was onto. There was, right now, only one thing to “hear about” and he was pretty sure it related to his brother. He wasn’t gonna’ get angry about it though. Not tonight.

“Yeah, yeah,” said Angel, running hand through his hair fluff. “Dunno’ what t’make of it.”

Cherri remembered the nights and evenings he talked about his Mafia past, all the rampant homophobia, the blitzkrieg of insults from his father, _and,_ his brother.

“I’d be fucking pissed.”

Angel nodded. “I am.”

“With the _shit-twizzler?”_

“Yep.”

Cherri looked at her best pal, a sad expression tugging her features. “Do you. . . know what you’re gonna’ do?”

Angel forced a chuckle, leaning on the building edge, extra arm swaying in the air. “I got de’ze silly thoughts in m’head. Like, oh I’ll bust down their door and scream and punch em’ and. . . I dunno. I don’t know, s’fucked.”

Angel sighed. “When I saw him last time, Cherri, shit was _way_ fucky. That night, we split his home upside down and, ah, ya’ know. I _don’t want to hate him._ I _don’t._ He’s my brother.”

“So what?”

Angel looked to his friend. “I wanna’ give him a chance. Pops, Henry, that fucker, he was a cock up an unlubed ass. He split me’n my brother up. Filled him with stupid ideas.”

Cherri shrugged, crossing arms. “That doesn’t mean he gets to treat you like garbage and get away with, Angie.”

“I ain’t sayin’ dat. I ain’t just forgettin’ about all of it. Especially _now.”_

Angel closed his eyes. “I just wanna’. . . fix it. But, I’unno, can I?”

“Not your problem to fix.”

“But. . .”

Angel stopped himself, laughing. “N’ahah, okay, fuck, I sound like Anon.”

Cherri reached over and squeezed the spider’s shoulder. “I don’t want you to get hurt again. We kinda’ forget about that, you know? We go back to the people who hurt us, sometimes.”

Angel took her hand with his and squeezed. “’Sandro ain’t. . . that. I know he ain’t. He’s sippin’ double dicks, for fuck sake. I know he’s good. I know it. He’s m’brother, and I. . . I miss em’.”

He huffed. “But, ya’ know, he’s bangin’ backs with Penny. And you’n Penny ain’t friends. I don’t want to hurt _you,_ Cherri. Not my best friend.”

Angel rubbed his head. “Shit, complicated, huh? Why’s it gotta’ be?”

Cherri smirked and shook her head. “Oh you silly bitch. It’s _okay._ I’m not gonna’ hold that against you, but, like. I don’t put stock in the guy who treated you like that. So what, he fucks holes and it’s all square?”

“Naw, ain’t that,” countered Angel. “He’s gonna’ be sorry. But I kinda’ want him t’be happy.”

Cherri snorted. “Why does he _deserve_ it?”

“He’s suffered. He has. Just. . . different. It’s complicated.”

Angel paused, thinking it over. “I got dis dumb other fantasy, and I’m just chattin’ with em’, hearin’ him talk about his love life n’shit. Like we get to start all over. Ain’t a bad thing to want.”

“Maybe,” said Cherri. “I won’t let them hurt you again, Angel.”

A quiet smile. Angel hugged the cyclopean demon. “Aww. Love ya’, sugartits.”

“Right back atcha’, Super Bitch.”

A quiet pause, then: “How’s life in the crumbling shitshack?”

Angel was relieved to shift subjects, a gentle whisper of warm city air flowing over him. “Crumbling. _A shitshack_.”

“Oh. Woops. Sorry.”

He raised his hands. “Nononono! I’m kiddin’, mostly. It’s rough, but we’ze makin’ it work. It’s better since ya’ last visited, I tell ya’ that.”

“Well I wasn’t even _inside.”_

“Point stands! But yeah, blondie had to come save our asses. My man wasn’t all keen on that, but eh, he’s a stubborn cutie.”

Cherri rolled her eye. “Who complains about free fuckin’ food?”

“Hah! Right? It ain’t that, though, he just wants t’prove we can make it on our own n’shit. I get it. Like, if we still gettin’ help then we’re not, um, wass’da word? Self-su-stain-in?”

“Mmhm.”

Angel nodded. “Yeah, so dat. S’good though. Little Nugsy wugsy has so much play room!”

Cherri gave a big smile, while Angel fished out his Hellphone, showing her pictures and videos. “Seeeee?”

“Awwww, little dumb pork.”

“We gots talkin’ roaches that _give_ us roaches, too.”

Cherri blinked. “Whoa, what?”

“Before ya’ get excited their fuckin’ weed _sucks.”_

Cherri laughed. “Hey, to be fair, good shit’s hard to find.”

“Well,” she went on, “I’m glad it’s workin’ out, Ange. I am, really. You deserve your own home. Anon seems. . . _fine.”_

Angel bat her on the shoulder. “Thanks, babe.”

“He treats you right? Doesn’t hit you or any of that shit?”

“No way! We’re doin’ good, honest. We work it out. Talk n’stuff. Used to get into it, ya’ know, I was. . . well, I was clockin’ him one. Wasn’t good. But yeah, happy, m’happy.”

He raised his hand, where the “pink” was replaced with black, indicating the serpentine mark. “Hitched, ‘member?”

He reassured her. “Don’t mean you’ze outta’ da’ picture though.”

Cherri just smiled.

“Thanks, Angel.”

Angel snapped his fingers, remember. “Oh, shit! ‘Fore I forget, ahh. . .”

He retrieved a pen, licked its tip, then scribbled on a sliver of paper. “Dis’ Mynerva’s digits. She got guns and she kinda’ shooty, so ya' know, fuck some stuff up.”

He winked at her. “Give th’bitch a call, might be a howler in the sack.”

-*-

A phone call.

Anon, in his shoddy office, picked up the landline. A familiar, warm tone poured through.

_“Hey buddy.”_

“Hox.”

_“I uh. . . did some checkin’ around, like you asked.”_

Anon waited. Never hurt to keep feelers out, and Hox’s knowledge was invaluable.

“I hope you didn’t find _anything.”_

_“Hahah, well. Stuck on Pentious, found out few of his mobs took off with some real interesting Exterminator shit.”_

Anon sighed. _“_ Great.”

_“. . .look uh, ain’t like me to make assumptions, but I’ve been doing some thinking. The way this is all settin’ up? Buddy, there’s only one fuck-huge stock pile of serious Exterminator leftovers.”_

Thief rubbed his head. “Oh god, Hox, what is it?”

_“Well. I figure. . . I figure he’s knotted up with Angel’s kin, yeah? I mean, one half is destitute. So, maybe. . . maybe they’re planning a knock over job.”_

Thief hesitated. “Yeah?”

There was a painful pause, and Hox’s anxiety was _palpable. “Anon, buddy. There’s only one outfit left with that kinda shit. The Cartel. The fucking **Sinaloa**.”_

Anon’s heart sank. _“Why?”_

_“I mean you get your mitts on some serious weapons you can build an empire, right? And who’s lookin’ to rebuild?”_

Anon took a long, deep breath. Damn, he could use a drink.

“Keep me posted.”

_“Always.”_

Anon hung up and leaned back in his chair. He heard the sound of the front door unlocking along with Angel’s cheerful voice.

_“M’hooooome!”_

[Well. _This_ was certainly like old times.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k1s5PWNqj7Y)


	10. Bad Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel wakes up and remembers.

**Bad Night**

[One of those cold, painfully familiar nights.](https://youtu.be/2AsnLA73HK8)

Angel held himself, on his side. The dark, lightless room accompanied by its shoddy wallpaper and decrepit surroundings was unpleasantly familiar. At first, a sense of anger overtook him – to think he should _feel_ this way about his _own fucking home._ He knew the small estate was old and run down, he knew it needed repairs. And yet, it held the character of an old haunted memory. The ones from his bleak, pained past.

It wasn’t over, not really. No magical end, no simple happy ending. There was always tomorrow, always the next day. Therapy and marriage and honesty helped, but Angel couldn’t pretend how much _hurt_ existed behind his eyes. There was so much. Cinders lingering in his soul, still burning.

His “family.” The loss of his adopted son. The drug abuse, the sexual assault, the fucking studio, _The Straps,_ the violence, his _brother._ On and on and on. He flexed his spare hands, staring at them, to make sure they were still his, unbound and free. He pressed a palm into forehead, sniffing, a strange rush of hot tears coming to his eyes. What the fuck now, what was this? Why, spontaneously, did everything hurt? Why did it _have_ to hurt?

He pushed himself upright, the bed wincing from his movement. The room around him, for the moment, was uncanny and alien. There were dressers, the “his and his” items set around, a few furnishings, Angel’s plethora of perfumes and brushes, pictures of the Hotel, Fat Nuggets, Angel and his Anon. You know, a place he lived in, his home. So why was it reminding him of _those days?_

 _M’tougher than this, right?_ Angel said, chastising himself. _I can get through it!_

But, it wasn’t “I” anymore. It was _we._ He was sharing a life with someone now. He glanced over, the shape and silhouette of his husband idly resting. Prosthetic wasn’t on – another reminder of the couple’s conflict-ridden history. Angel frowned. Was this gonna be it? Were he and his guy doomed to go on a rollercoaster of ups and downs? No peace or respite, haunted by everything from their past lives?

_Hey, yer’ the only one gettin’ all fussy, bitch._

Angel closed his eyes. He needed to just _get over it._ But he couldn’t.

When he opened them again, he looked at the dresser mirror, seeing his frame. It yanked out another depressing memory, another kernel of his times with, well, _him._ And, in that terrible moment, it served as an additional reminder: Angel hadn’t told Thief everything. Hadn’t told him what happened at the studio. It wasn’t _the_ thing forcing this surge of anguish, but, fucking hell, it didn’t help.

The last time he suppressed his problems with drugs and lies, the last time he refused to be honest and talk with his partner, things got _bad._ Couldn’t be that way anymore, lesson learned. For both of them.

He clutched himself tigher. He didn’t have to, did he? Not really. What if. . . what if Anon got really fucking mad? Got mad at him for keeping it hidden? What if he did something _stupid?_ What if. . . what if he looked at Angel like he was _damaged?_

Wasn’t the same, this was different. Thief was well aware of Angel’s past. Fuck, when they were dating, Angel still had to run a client or two, but the spook never judged him. But, what Val did, what happened so often, that was. . .

Hurt. It was hurt. Breaking Val’s face in with a bat and taking a trophy tooth didn’t mystically erase those days. It didn’t magic away the trauma and hurt. Cathartic, yes, but it was only one piece to a much larger fucked up puzzle.

Angel wiped his eyes, sniffing again. He clenched his hair fluff and wanted to break down. Then, he got angry with himself _again._ HE was the problem here. Everything was just FINE. He had to be stupid and remember. And thinking Anon would judge him!? Fucking idiot!

“Stupid bitch,” he hissed through his teeth. “S’wonder ya’ even got hitched.”

He took a breath. Then exhaled. Shit.

He needed his support network. Badly. He needed his friends. He needed help, he needed Anon. Angel reached over and nudged the shape. He hesitated a moment, holding hand over the figure, but then proceeded.

“Anon,” he whispered. “Anon. _Anon, please wake up.”_

A grumble. “Nnnff. Anfng. Just.”

Sleepy, exhausted words. Thief shuffled, turning away. “Honey. Just get Mynerva. . . to. . . take care. . .”

Angel got desperate. “Anon, _m’not okay.”_

If there were a button inside Thief’s brain that said “husband mode: on,” it was certainly pressed. His eye snapped open, he forced himself awake, pushing himself up, staring at the spider.

“Baby, what?” he said, voice groggy and hoarse. “What’s wrong?”

Looking at Angel was enough. His pained features, the gentle hint of blotchy, runny makeup, the way Angel tried to force a trembling grin in response to duress, arms holding his body. That, and Thief _felt_ it, how their souls mingled and shared mutual sensations. It wasn’t _needed_ after all this time together – he could recognize a pained spider when he saw one. But, it crystallized the moment.

Angel glanced down, searching for the words. No. Not here. Not this bad shit in his home, in his room where he shared his most private, tender moments. “I wanna’ take a walk.”

Thief glanced at the time, blinked, then with no hesitation, nodded. “All right. Let me get something on.”

No questioning, no argument. Angel needed something, Angel got something.

-*-

It’s strange how cold Hell felt at times. The sting of a midnight chill clung to the air, enough Thief and Angel had to wear more than usual. In fact, contrasting against his usual attire, Angel had slung on the spook’s old overcoat, the shadowy fabric hugging his frame like a comforting blanket. As for Anon, the jacket Angel made for him would do, spider-symbol glowing through the ungodly late hours like a romantic beacon. Too bad this wasn’t romantic.

Angel stayed quiet for a long while. Thief didn’t force it. He could see his spider struggling, musing over words, trying to find the right way to say, well, whatever it is.

“Tell me whenever you’re ready,” said Thief, gentle and assuring. He didn’t know exactly what was eating at his Angel, but it couldn’t be good. This time, though, he’d be there for him. All ears, at attention, whatever Angel needed.

It didn’t stop one thing though: a gentle blossom of fear. Thief, admittedly, felt his chest go cold. What was it? Their son? It was possible, but, the canter of Angel’s steps, his labored movements, his harrowed features. . .

“Let’s stop somewhere,” Angel croaked. Wordlessly, Thief nodded and they continued on, reaching a shitty diner, not too different from the one from their dating days.

Inside, they sat. A plump imp waiter shuffled over, and both ordered a coffee. Maybe they’d need it.

When the drinks sat in front of them, Thief leaned back and sighed, exhaling, glancing out the window. “Last time I had coffee black. . . I’d finished a knock-up job. Family, _Genovese,_ that shit. My Capo, had me run this guy through, he was skimming money, yeah?”

Angel’s sad, mismatched eyes looked to his husband. He said nothing, only listened.

“They laundered through him, but he wanted some extra so you know. We pulled up after hours, Capo gives me a hammer, and I break the guy’s knees. It wasn’t my job, wasn’t my fight, but had to do it. Had to do something I wasn’t sure about. Felt pretty sick you know?”

He looked at his coffee. “Yeah. Made my marks. Earned my place with a pack of rats. I was changing. Or they were _changing_ me, and I think about it, even if I don’t say it.”

Angel took his own cup and held it in spare hands. His normally excited, verbose mouth was tight and quiet.

“But now I am,” said Thief, solemn. “I hope you say ‘it’ too, Angel.”

He stared at the spider. Then, took Angel’s hand into his own, giving a squeeze. “Please don’t be afraid.”

Angel blinked. The quietest, weakest single laugh left him. He opened his mouth to speak. “I. . .”

“I’m. . .” he continued, struggling. He closed his eyes. He took a long steady breath, like his husband. Like he was preparing for a performance, like he was about to go on stage against a sea of staring, lustful gazes.

“A bit of me. . . is still back de’ere. . .”

Save now, there was only one.

Anon’s eye widened. “What does that mean, Angel?” he said voice soft, but concerned.

A defeated look. “At th’studio, I mean. I’m. . . I. . . some of me is still. . .”

Anon, alarmed, caressed the spider’s hand. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

Angel shook is head. “No. . . no it ain’t, baby.”

“Then tell me. Tell me anything, Angel, I’m right here.”

Angel stared at their touching hands. Was such a familiar, comforting thing, a reminder of their bound union. But the flashes of his old life still took a deep and terrible toll. For a good while he buried it through drugs and sex. Drowned it with alcohol. Found some solace in the Hotel. But, like with his other traumas, neglecting it was no longer an option.

He didn’t know where to begin, so, he just did.

“They hurt me.”

Anon tensed, a small spike of anger rising through him. Who hurt him? But, he kept himself tempered.

“. . .it’s. . . Anon, ya’ know. . . what I am.”

Thief blinked. “You’re my husband.”

Angel sniffed, wiping his eye. “Ahah. I was a whore, baby, ya’ know that.”

Thief said nothing.

“I had a pimp.”

Anon’s prosthetic flexed and clenched. “Valentino.”

Angel gave a slow, pained nodded. “Valentino.”

In Thief’s stomach, a knot formed. The dots were connecting. It didn’t take a genius to sort it all out really, to _know._ Pimp, whore, a system of sexual exploitation, drugs. One thing leads to another. It was a dark and terrible thing, a reality even _he_ – with Genovese family – was in proximity too. The girls lead astray, the lies, the money, all that ugly business. But Anon feared the words to be said, feared the acknowledgement. Because if Angel said it, it was real. A dreadful, horrible thing come to life. To know that someone could do that, and _had_ done that.

But, he quickly got the fuck over it. Wasn’t about him. Angel needed his friends, he needed support, and he had his husband.

The spider struggled, choking on the words. So, Thief did it for him. It was, perhaps, one of the hardest things he ever had to say.

“He. . . touched you?”

Angel’s eyes clenched shut and stung with hot tears. He offered a weak “yes.”

Thief felt the weight come down. Slowly.

Angel then hissed, then laughed, his makeup running, looking at his husband. “He fucked me.”

Was kinda like Sarin’s poison ripping its way through Anon’s body all over again.

Angel slammed the table. “ _Fucked. Me._ That. . . he. . .” Anger.

“Ya’ get it!? Ya’ wanted to hear it so bad! Well. . . well h-here it is! O-okay!? Fucked me! Fucked before I knew you! Cuffed my hands n’took me backstage! Made me work den did it, again and again!”

Hot, teary fury. “Y-ya’ understand? Ya’ getin’ th’fuckin’ picture!?”

The shout was loud enough the kitchen staff looked over, though figuring it was another midnight breakup, shrugged and continued cooking their gruel.

For Thief, though, every word struck like a hot nail. He felt Angel’s anguish push into him, rapacious and tragic in its own horrifying way. A swell of fury and sorrow and pain ate at his soul. The idea. The notion that slimy, tall thing had his hands all over the spider, putting him down, going _inside_ him. He could imagine the agony of that, to be robbed of something so precious and important as one’s sexual authority.

Angel shuddered and wept. “H-he forced me, baby, I’m sorry, I-I’m sorry. . . he. . .”

The silence said it all. Angel was taken against his will at the studio. Before and _after_ Angel’s relation with Thief.

In his mind, he always feared that. But, knew it, too. This was. . . Hell. This place was for suffering. To imagine by some _miracle_ that Angel wasn’t. . . used was, well, naïve. Thief was angry. But Thief was angry because Angel was _apologizing._

“It’s okay,” he said, voice strained. “Angel, it’s _not your fault._ It has _never_ been your fault!”

Angel buried his eyes in palm, shaking head. “I just. . . I can’t. . . it comes b-back! I d-don’t want it too!”

Thief squeezed that soft, sweet hand. Angel, his face a mess, looked to his husband. “I-I-I’m broken. M’damaged.”

Thief bogged, his eye widening. He took the spider, swept an arm around his shoulder, and lead him out of the diner.

-*-

Be good to him.

Just be good to him.

Thief, like a mantra, repeated his words to Angel, over and over. It’s okay, and it will always be okay. Angel shoved his eyes into the shadow’s shoulder and wept, as one is wont to do after revealing all this. The wound torn and the blood flowed.

It was wishful thinking to believe they could escape the past so easily. Val was out of commission, grievously injured, a serious blow dealt to his studio (or one, at least), but he’d hurt Angel in a deep, significant way. Of course, of course there was pain.

Thief did his best to process it. Infuriating? Of course. Who in the realm of life and death wouldn’t be? What Val had done, then and now. . . well, entire civilizations would die over the concept alone. A bleak, cynical thought: _Sarakk wasn’t enough._

But. . . it was Angel blaming himself that set him off. Angel, the victim, believing he to be the root of his own assault. That poor, beautiful spider.

At some point, Angel managed to settled a little. The pair sat on a street corner, a lone, dismal streetlight bathing them in pale, sick light. They passed a cig between each other.

Quiet, save for Pentagram City’s distant chaos.

Finally, weak, Angel spoke: “I wanna’ go.”

Without hesitation, Thief stood.

Angel looked up to his husband. “C-can we go back to th’Hotel tonight?”

Anon blinked. But again, without hesitation. “Okay.”

Angel joined his husband at his side. “I wanna’ see Cherri.”

“I’ll call her.”

“I-I wanna’ get Nuggets. . .”

“I’ll call Mynerva.”

“I. . . I. . . wanna’ sleep in my old room. . .”

“Whatever you need, Angel.”

“I. . .”

He stopped. There was another something he meant to say. Another “I want” but, left it alone. It’s fine. In his own time. Thief wanted the world for him, to comfort and protect him, and let him know he was loved.

“M’sorry. . . I didn’t say. . . anything sooner.”

Thief kissed his forehead. “Shh. Shhh. It’s okay. It’s okay now. Thank you for telling me.”

He managed a weak smile. “Let’s go get a Hotel room.”

-*-

Hox wiped his brow, gasping in a pleased manner as he dropped from the improvised bar and landed on his feet. He stretch, the delicate sinew of his frame warping with focused precision, gentle muscle pushing through his gray fur coat. He stretched, back muscles defined.

“Hey, not bad right?” he called over, grabbing a bottled water and slugging it down.

“BaaAaAaA. . .” cooed a blushing Raz who sat next to his brother goat, Daz.

They were watching telly in Hox’s room, eating snacks.

Hox looked at them, Doberman feature’s pulled with a smirk. “Hey, easy on the sugar, ya’ two gonna get a fat ass.”

Both rolled their eyes and pat at their hips. Yeah, they knew, he loved it like that.

Hox chuckled, finishing his water in one brisk motion. “Back in a sec, Bois.”

Normally he’d toss on a shirt to hide his tattooed physique, but, it was late, and he was just getting the after-workout protein shake. He skipped down the steps, feeling a whole lot better, light as a feather. Getting your crank worked by two sweet shortstacks helped every other night helped.

He wandered down, whistling, coming to the living room. All seemed normal, save. . . for a smell. Hmm? That was odd. A familiar scent at that. _Two_ of them. Cigarettes, cologne, perfume. . . perfume!?

“What?”

He followed the scent into the living quarters which was. . . lit. Lit? Why? The lights were on? Curious, he entered, tossing his gaze around the room.

. . .and there they were.

Two figures. Well, three, counting the pig. Thief, reclined in the couch, Angel pushed into him, resting in his side, Fat Nuggets on his lap. They didn’t even look his way.

“Uh. . .”

“Hey, Hox,” Thief uttered, voice grated and weak.

Without glancing at the Doberman, he made a gesture. “Can you get Charlie?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAVING A GOOD TIME YEAH ALL RIGHT
> 
> H-HAH


	11. Stage Setter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel and Anon spend a night at the Hotel while the spider gets an idea.

**Behind the Curtain**

Tired eyes and exhausted frames.

The living quarters dawned an image it hadn’t for. . . god, what, in over a year now? For the first time in long while, the staff and denizens of the Hotel clustered together despite the hour. Once Charlie heard her baby birds came fluttering back to the nest, everyone else knew.

Anon made good on his promises. Mynerva – groggy and grouchy – produced Fat Nuggets. The pig sprinted to his spider, in both jubilation and in hopes to aid Angel’s internal strife. Cherri wasn’t long after, though, this was her first time in the Hotel, and it was utterly and totally alien to her. It took every ounce of self-control she had not to casually juggle an explosive while inside the building.

As for the rest, well, it was best described as “Charlie.” She made everyone an evening drink, immediately had Angel’s old room prepped for sleep (though absent of his personal belongings) and was hasty to dote on him.

When others joined in, from the elusive Baxter to the erratic Niffty, Anon decided to chat with Hox to catch up.

“Will you be okay?” he said, turning to his spider. After what he learned, he dared not leave Angel’s side unless he knew he was all right. Given that Angel Dust was currently swept up by support from friends and loved, that wasn’t hard to conclude.

Angel gave a small smile. “Yeah. Can ya’ stay close? So I can still see ya’?”

Thief squeezed him. “I’ll be right here.”

A kiss on the spider’s cheek and he strode to Hox, on the edge of the room, within eyesight. The Doberman demon was still shirtless, revealing his network of tattoos clashing against gray fur coat. He nodded when Anon approached.

No jokes this time. “I take it was bad, this time,” Hox said.

Anon leaned against the wall, glancing briefly to Angel. Cherri had taken space next to him, dawning the position of a concerned friend. She put her hand on his shoulder, Angel looked at her, and their mouths moved. He’d make a small nod, Cherri reacted in a way that said “I understand,” and so on.

Thief looked back to Hox. “You uh, gonna put a shirt on?”

He chuckled. “Don’t act like you don’t love what ya’ see.”

“Too late man, married.”

“Yeah. Uh. About that. . . something happen?”

Thief took a breath. “Guess I’ve been in denial.”

“Eh?”

Thief did his best to mull the discovery over. A lot of beautiful, horrible things happen in the name of love. A lot of equally horrible things happened when that love is hurt.

“Angel’s background. I was always afraid of learning more about it, but. . .”

Hox studied his comrade for a while. “Sex trade ain’t pretty, buddy,” he said, in a sober tone. “No one comes out clean.”

Thief said nothing.

“I am sorry.”

A head shake. “ _I_ don’t need it, he does. Not like I never got. . . urgh. God. Why him, Hox? Why Angel?”

Hox gave a bitter growl. “If I ever meet the big guy upstairs, I’ll fuckin’ ask him. The fucked up stuff that happens to people, just because?”

Thief drew in another long breath. “He touched him, Hox, that’s the only way I can say it. At the studio, before I knew him, just. . . ”

Hox didn’t need much to piece it together. Angel opened up about his past. About the _real_ bad stuff. Sure, drug abuse and fucking for money, that’s the side most thought about, the “sexy side.” But what else would bring these two back for a night? It was bad enough to know someone you loved was in pain. Worse to know what had been done to them.

It was kinda’ astonishing Thief wasn’t losing his shit right now.

“I don’t know if this helps,” Hox said, scratching head, “But that stunt you pulled with the bug really fucked Val sideways and back. They were digging up pieces of him for days. Heard they found his small intestine wrapped around a traffic light.”

Thief forced a smile. “It does. A little. But I’m not gonna’ let him have Angel that way. I will move on. _We_ will move on. I’m not giving that fucker the mental space.”

Hox nodded. “One day at a time. Hey, you can always bother me and shit if ya’ need to.”

“That’s what I’m doing now.”

The Doberman laughed. “You holdin’ up then?”

“. . .better than I expected.”

A pause. Thief remembered the last time they spoke, figuring it a good time to assess the _other_ situation.

“By the way, anything on, _you know_?”

Hox stretched and yawned, nodding again. “Yeah, well. If there’s ‘good’ news, it’s that Penny’s been grabbin small time shit. Caches that are kinda random depots. Yeah, Sinaloa junk is in there but it’s other gang stuff too, all mixed together, like caches of Exterminator weapons. Stuff you see on black markets.”

He crossed his arms. “See. . . though. The Cartel ain’t looking to pick a fight with Penny. Just cause he’s a wack-job don’t mean he’s someone to fuck around with. Pretty sure they ain’t looking for wars. But, you know what they do, Anon. Sinaloa make examples. They’re gonna pay attention sooner or later.”

Anon paused, considering. “You thinking they’ll go after Anthony’s brother?”

Hox offered a bitter laugh. “If he’s sleepin’ with the snake, no chance. Pentious’ll fuck em up. But. . . they’ll get names, and they’ll hunt down who ever they can that’s as close to the situation as possible.”

Thief dawned an expression of stiff disbelief. “. . .shit. They. . . would they?”

“It’s the Cartel.”

“Fuck. But, they’re not stupid enough to try shit with Charlie, are they?”

Hox frowned. “Anon. They’re gonna’ find out it’s Arackniss. They’ll hunt down who Arackniss knows. Every fuckin’ whore and bartender. Then. . . family. Then associates of family.”

Anon hissed and clenched his fist. “Oh my fucking god,” he said, irate.

“Look, I ain’t just saying this _just_ outta’ the kindess of my heart. I might be in the crosshairs too, ya’ know?”

“I know.”

Hox shrugged. “Look, anyway, I’m keepin’ tabs. My eyes out there ain’t seen much trouble just yet, nothing beyond this hit jobs. But, makes me wonder if Penny’s aiming at something bigger, like I mentioned on the phone.”

“We might be in danger and it’s _not_ my fault?”

Hox grinned. “Yep.”

Thief huffed, rubbing his eye. He was too tired for all this. He just wanted Angel to be okay. “Thanks for keeping up with it.”

“Hey, I like being retired and dickin’ the Bois every other night. Not too keen on losing that, ya’ know?”

Thief chuckled. “How is that still even a thing?”

“Hey, come on, they’re sweet and smart and stuff. They work hard and they like it when big daddy dog listens to em’ about their day and. . .”

A hand raised. “Please, Hox.”

“I’m _just_ sayin’. Twins.”

Thief smirked. “You’ve got me there.”

-*-

“Wow. So this was your digs, huh?”

Cherri leaned back in the sofa, arms and legs crossed, scrolling over her surroundings with her eye. It was pretty lavish, but way too fancy and stuff for her taste. Too many small spaces. But, at least her bestie felt better here.

“Mm, yeah,” said Angel, tone sober, managing a small smile. “Lotta’ good memories.”

She put a hand on his shoulder. “. . .but not tonight?”

Angel didn’t have to say much. “Th’bad ones.”

Cherri sighed and leaned into him. “Ah, fuck, Angel, I’m so sorry.”

Angel stared at the ground. “Me too. I. . .” he glanced up, over to his husband and the chatting Doberman demon.

“Told em’ ‘bout what. . . happened to me a lot, back then. N’what happened at th’studio.”

Cherri frowned, then opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by an interjecting Charlie.

“Hi,” said Lucifer’s Daughter, “I’m sorry to interrupt.”

She had a cup and handed it to Angel. “Here. I remember this would help.”

Cherri quieted, realizing it was the first time she’d been in the presence of, well, _Her._ She was certainly a little princess, sweet and charming, but also part of _the_ family. Kind of astonishing to see her like this.

“Thanks, Chuck,” rasped Angel, taking the cup. It was tea with a bit of honey (no drugs), and sometimes helped.

“Your room is ready whenever you need it,” said Charlie, soft and kind. She looked to Cherri. “Can I get you anything, miss Bomb?”

Cherri had to fight back laughs. _Miss Bomb?_ “No, um. I’m good. Thanks.”

Charlie nodded and took another sad look at Angel, before striding away. Cherri huffed. “She’s interesting.”

“We don’t call’er mom for nothin’.”

“Hey, as long as she’s good to you, Ange.”

Angel in his extra hands took a sip of the tea while petting Nuggets in the other, looking to his friend. “Thanks for comin’, Cherri. I know dis’ ain’t yer usual scene.”

She rubbed his shoulder. _“Angel._ Any time. Any. Place. I’ve got your back, bitch.”

He chuckled. “Preesh, sugartits.”

Angel took a long, studious pause, wide mismatched eyes staring at his reflection in the cup. He wanted to see himself without seeing _everything else._ How long would that take? What could he do?

Hmm.

Then he looked up. “. . .Cherri.”

“Hm?”

“Can. . . I ask ya’ fer a favor. I got’s me an idea.”

She tilted her head. “What’s up?”

He looked at her. “I need a buildin’.”

She blinked. “A building?”

“I’ll. . . give ya’ the deets soon. I got plans.”

“ _Plans?_ Well, all right.”

Returning to a little bit of his old self, Angel nudged his bestie and made a gesture. “By da’way. There’s the pooch.”

He gestured to a very tired, grumbly Mynerva.

Cherri studied her for a moment. “She’s. . . tall. . .”

“Dat a problem?”

Cherri ran fingers through her blonde locks. _“Nope.”_

Angel snickered, padding Nuggets. “Ya’ gonna’ say hi?”

“What about _you?”_

He shrugged. “M’gonna’ turn in.”

Cherri looked him over. “Are you sure? Angie, if you need anything, right here.”

“M’better now, Cherri, but. . . thank ya’ so much for checkin’ on me. I love ya’, girl.”

Cherri smiled and hugged him. “Love you too, Super Bitch. Like I said, _any time._ ”

-*-

Where Angel’s night started harsh and miserable, now it receded to comfort and warmth. It still hurt, of course, the trauma and the abuse. No one could escape a demon so easily. It hurt in so many ways, to look at himself and lose value in his own body, his appearance. To lose appetite for the things that made it special, to feel. . . shattered. But the people in the Hotel cared for him so much. Cared and came running when he yelled for them. Always with him, even if they weren’t.

And then. . .

Angel shifted on his side, glancing to the shadow stripping out of jacket and clothes, down to briefs. He watched how the gentle hint and sinew of muscle pushed through his shadow-y flesh, how he slowly flexed the prosthetic as natural as his own arm, how he cracked his neck and yawned.

He was always there. His literal shadow. He looked at Angel and only _saw_ Angel. No, saw _Anthony._ Not the men who used him, not the people who assaulted him, not the drugs or habits or anything. Just the spider. That was love – it was honesty. The ability to drop all pretenses, all masks, all metaphorical attires and just be.

Thief never protested nor questioned. When his spider hurt, he did everything he could. And to Angel, well, it was hard to believe anyone could love him this much, but he was so, so wrong.

Angel was still hurt but, as long as he had his Anon, he knew he’d be okay. Said Anon slipped into bed, a familiar place, in Angel’s old room. At once, Angel looped an arm around him, pressed his fluff into the shadow, squeezed tight.

He chuckled. “Hey, baby. You okay?”

Angel squeezed tighter. “. . .thank ya’ for all this.”

Thief blinked, surprised. “Honey. . . it’s nothing. We’re here for you, you know that.”

A quiet nod. “M’just. . . happy. . . I dunno’. . . I’m just happy I got you.”

“I think I’m the lucky one, here.”

Angel had trouble finding the words or what to say. His Anon was hard to believe, sometimes. How far he’d go and what he’d do. And. . . he was all his. This guy, this shadow, he belonged to the spider. All that affection, love, and attention, only for him. One hell of a fuckin’ drug.

So, for nothing else, Angel promised himself to get better. Not just for his own sake, but for his husband, too.

“I love ya’ baby, I really do. Don’tcha ever ferget that.”

Anon returned a genuine smile. “You’re talkin’ dirty, hon. I love you too.”

They encircled each other in a warm, loving grasp, fading to sleep.

As they did, Angel knew what he wanted to do next.


	12. Takin' Back the Lights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel performs. He and Husk have a brief talk.

**Takin' Back the Lights**

Angel Dust took a long, steady breath. He eyed his features over in the room mirror, assuring his makeup was on just how he liked it, the fluff was nice and soft, the clothes accenting his lithe frame. Tonight, it was different. Tonight, he was taking control.

The Hotel had supported him for so long. So had his husband. They’d picked him up when he was broken, never stopped helping, never gave up. Because of them, he was here. Because of them, he had a life with someone he cherished and loved. So, he wanted to give a little back, and he was doing it on _his terms._

Cherri did as he requested. A few days after Angel and Thief stayed at the Hotel for a night to keep the spider in good spirits, his friend located a building. But it was a _specific_ kind of building, one for a performance. One with a lavish catwalk and small guest area, the kind for VIP watchers. With a little “persuasion,” she was able to clear it out. Because tonight, it wasn’t going to host usual guests. No anonymous eyes or gazes from strangers. No.

This was only for the people he loved.

A long time ago. . . well, it _felt_ like a long time, he’d done something similar. In his days under the clutches of Valentino, his performances were nothing more than a quick escape. Angel took the stage, made money for his pimp, and vanished into the aura of power he briefly possessed. While on stage, he commanded eyes and attention. He could be enticing, teasing, erotic, but keep it. All patrons could do was watch – never touch. It helped Angel believe, for a flicker of time, he had. . . something.

Of course the illusion shattered quickly after. Val was eager to remind him so, among things. And every time, Angel’s love and belief that he was still beautiful or valuable waivered. Sex was meaningless, his body no longer special. He really had _nothing,_ only the knowledge he had nothing, and his one escape was substance and the “scene.”

But tonight? No. No more of that. He decided to recreate this memory, this moment. Do it on _his_ terms, for people _he_ wanted. He was taking it _back,_ like he took everything _else_ back.

He took the words, the phrase, speaking it to himself like a prayer.

_“Til’ death do us part.”_

Now, though, it meant something _very_ different.

-*-

A crowd formed.

But one made from familiar faces and friends. They were here for a show, a show only meant for them.

A long catwalk lit by neon-pink lights gave way to a foundation of steps. Surrounding it were tables, housing all the Hotel guests, from Alastor to Mimzy to Charlie. Others were there too, like Cherri and Hox. No strange gazes, no loathsome stares from abusive Overlords, just them.

And, of course, seated on a table closest to the stage, front and center: Thief.

When Angel told him about all this, Anon didn’t know what to think. Initially, supportive of course. But, he didn’t know what it truly meant to Angel or how this helped him. He was curious, and he wouldn’t miss it for the world. If this is what the spider needed, then so be it. Funny, he’d never actually seen Angel on stage before. . . it was kind of exciting.

Everyone else carried the same enthusiasm. The energy and support were strong here, and all knew it was meant for Angel. He was conquering a personal demon in his own way, and his friends would be there for him, no matter what.

The lights flickered, then faded. When they returned, a silhouette appeared on stage, much in the way Anon might appear when sneaking about.

Angel’s frame coalesced, staring at his friends and lover, wearing a proud grin. His mouth opened, and his smooth voice echoed out across the atrium.

“Til’ death do us part!”

At once, Angel sang. Words he knew, words haunting him for years, words lingering in his mind, once beholden to the possessive clutches of Valentino. But now? Free and his own. _He_ commanded his own life now, _he_ made his own decisions! Where before this stage was a display to lustful, uncaring eyes, where the throne of his tormenter sat across and gazed at him with malign intent, now. . . now it was only for people that Angel cared about.

It was only for them, only for their eyes. His gift to his friends, his way of sharing his wild, theatrical side. He gripped the pole, swung around it in a seductive, skilled fashion, staring out to the crowd, and then to his husband.

They locked eyes for a brief moment

_Ya’ watchin’, baby?_

__

Angel worked the stage. Every curve and angle he understood, every inch of it his canvas. His body was the paint as he teased his crowd with his body. Midriff exposed, his fluff cleavage wiggled with healthy bounces while his legs stretched and spread. His shapely limbs and ample backside swished into view hither-and-dither, only granting glimpses to further entice the watchers.

Heh. Well. Maybe just one of them, anyway.

The pole was his tool. Simple it might’ve been, but for an arachnid? He could manage all sorts of angles, create numerous views to tease watchers with his white-fluff frame. He’d get an approval of sounds whenever he did something raunchy, like a cheer from Cherri or flustered giggle from Charlie.

“Get it, Super Bitch!” Cherri hollered.

“Baaaa!?” the Bois bleated.

“Damn. . .” Hox muttered.

“I’m repulsed, but amazed,” chided Alastor.

“Pfft, I could do that. . .” grumbled Vaggie.

“I. . . I didn’t know he could. . .” blushed Charlie.

“Damn, girl,” woo’d Crymini.

“This is giving me ideas,” mused Baxter.

Hox scratched his head. “Think I got a spider fetish now.”

“I’m _not_ cleaning the stage!” hopped Niffty.

Anon smiled.

As he did, Angel crawled along the stage, expression pulled with a wicked sneer, gold toot glinting in the blitz of dancing pink lights, straight at his partner.

_“Just concede and give into your inner demons again!”_

The stage was his, and so was the moment.

-*-

When Angel finished, his chest heaved with gulps of air as he finished his routine. Of course, his entourage of friends and lover applauded, followed by a private afterparty. It was – for the first time – the gang got back together for hard drinks. Everyone partook, even Alastor.

It allowed Angel to soak in that attention and energy he was so used to back in “the old days.” How, for those nights, he got a chance to be the highlight, lose himself in a crowd, numbing every sense with alcohol, drugs, and attention. Back then he got to forget about _Anthony,_ and just be _Angel._ He was doing it again here. . . but for different reasons.

“Kinda forgot you could do that,” mumbled a buzzed Cherri, at her friend’s side. Angel’s head wobbled with laughs.

“S’aaaall in the hips, ya’ know. Nice’nsmooth. Legs is everything on stage! Good legs gitcha’ goin’, get ya’ up on the pole.”

Cherri cackled. “Fuckin’ swear if you weren’t gay.”

The evening went on like that, pleasant chatter and talks. The good kind, the safe kind, reminding Angel he was loved by a lot of people. It meant everything he could share himself with them, at least this way. It wasn’t perfect. It wouldn’t quell everything. Once the heavenly high faded he’d go back to “the daily spider” and work through all the problems still stuck in his webs, but. . . hey, at least he had people to support him.

After a while, he cut loose from the crowd, tossed on a jacket and went to the building’s roof for a quick smoke. He’d return to everyone, but he wanted a brief moment to process, soak this in for _himself._ Outside, the city stretched out before him. Funny, he used to look at it with envious eyes, always hopeful for freedom, because when he sipped a cig, it was usually with the knowledge he had to see Val again. But now. . .

“I really shoulda’ taken you up on that show before.”

A grouchy, gruff, rusty-nails-in-Texas-heat voice pushed out against the cacophony of Pentagram City. Angel tilted his head, recognizing.

“Ey, whiskers.”

Angel perched his arms against the building’s side, his midriff mostly exposed since he didn’t bother to button up. Husk took a step closer.

Angel puffed and snickered. “Well, ya’ made up for ol’ times, eh?”

Husk, with hesitant energy, took up next to the spider. “Guess so.”

A deep, strange quiet formed. If this was all about revisiting old memories, well, one in particular bubbled to the surface. Husk recalled, thought about all of it, what used to be, what wasn’t anymore.

“You uh, looked good up there,” he said with a cough, scratching his head. Hmm, what was he supposed to say.

“Oh ya’ fuckin’ know it, kitty. Been doin’ it fer years. Itsa’ art, ain’t appreciated enough!”

“I liked it.”

“Betcha’ did!”

Agh, damn, this sure wasn’t easy. Husk was over it, he guessed. Alcohol always helped, of course. Way before the spook showed up, before it got “complicated,” they were a thing. A brief thing, he and Angel, undercut by habits and drink and bullshit. But had something. Not anymore, though.

“You’ze ain’t blowin’ a whiskey shiner,” said Angel with surprising softness in his voice. “You um. . . okay?”

Husk hocked a laugh. “Legs, you know me well enough.”

Angel looked to the feline, giving a sad smile. “Yeah. I do.”

Husk shrugged. “I dunno. I just, uh. Well. We don’t really ever talk.”

“Ya’ never call!”

“You _know_ what I mean.”

Angel chuckled. “Do I?”

Husk groaned, wishing he had a bottle right about now. “Goddamn, legs, you always liked to make it hard.”

“Hehehe, you fuckin’ know it baby.”

He groused. “I’m tryin’ to be serious here.”

He looked at Angel again, remembering. Night was full of it. Slender supple form, once bathed in the intoxicating lights of the club, tummy exposed, fluff cleavage teased from the jacket, all complimenting Angel’s wild eyes and complexion. To say he didn’t miss that was a lie. Who wouldn’t? On its own, to hold that spider and say “this is mine,” it was a feeling he yearned for. At least, ignoring everything else. The arguments, _the bad ones,_ the yelling, the violent throwing of bottles. . .

“So am I, Husky,” tossed Angel. “S’matter?”

“Everything, and nothin’.”

Angel puffed again. “I ain’t really a therapist, whiskers. Dunno’ if I uh, can figure dat’ for ya.”

“I don’t want you to. Just want to talk. Talk to _you.”_

Angel softened. “About?”

Husk chuckled. “Everything and nothing.”

Another long pause. Those words were hard to find, but also easy. That was Angel, of course. He toyed with everyone, ran circles around em’ like a finger on a martini glass. Sometimes it was playful, other times malicious. Husk though had enough sense to know Angel wasn’t mean tonight, it was just how he was.

“Thanks for comin’,” Angel finally said. “ _And_ comin’ to the show.”

Husk made a face. “Really, legs?”

“Mmhm.”

Angel flicked away the cig butt and stretched, straightening himself. “I mean it though. Dis uh, helped me. I wasn’t doin’ so good.”

Husk nodded, ears lowering. “Yeah. I got that impression. You’re okay?”

“Much better. It meant a lot everyone showin’ up, hah. Even fuckin’ smiles did.”

“I think he likes it when you’re happy, you cause more trouble that way.”

“Nahah, fuckin’ true.”

Husk’s wings gave a flap. “Well. Thanks for havin’ me there. For what it was worth.”

“Plenty, babe.”

Husk gave a long, pained sigh. “You think if I was at your first one, things would be different?”

Angel blinked. He didn’t answer at once, the impression clear on Husk’s face, audible in his voice. And, it was here, he thought of responding different. He thought way back to when he and Anon went to get their adopted boy back, at the tower. He recalled all those strange monitors depicting hundreds of variants and versions of, well, himself. He didn’t wrap his head around it, didn’t really want to anyway, but the best conclusion he and Anon reached was “different places, different times.” Angel was, then, absolutely sure in one of them he and Husk were together. Together and happy.

But. . . not in this one.

“I think we woulda’ done the same thing,” Angel said finally, serious. He gazed at Husk. “We tried, whiskers. You’n me wasn’t in a great place back den. Still kinda’ ain’t.”

Husk nodded. “Yeah. Er, I. . . look don’t get me wrong, Angel. I’m not tryin’ to kill your buzz. I’m not here askin’ for a second chance or something.”

“I know ya’ ain’t.”

Husk looked out to the city. “I made my peace with it. Sure you did too. Guess I just. . . do you think about it too sometimes? You and me?”

Husk blinked. “Ah, fuck. All things considered that’s kinda’ fucked of me to say, ain’t it?”

Angel laughed quietly, closing his eyes, folding a set of arms on the building side. “Husk. . . baby. Ya’ never ferget. Ya’ move on, sure, but ya’ always gonna’ care. At least a little.”

Husk tapped his fingers. “Hmm. Guess so. You didn’t answer me though.”

“Psh. Yeah, o’course. Just, ya’ know, in a curious sorta’ way. Like a cat. But, ya’ know Husk, I got my thing, so. . . ain’t common fer me.”

“Hah, don’t blame you.”

Angel cleared his throat, glancing up at the night sky. “Why ya’ askin’, anyway?” He queried not out of spite, but intrigue.

“Guess the show had me thinkin’ about the old days.”

“They was some goodins.”

“Mostly bad.”

Angel cackled. “Fuckin’ preach.”

“Hey uh. Can I ask you one more thing?”

Angel nodded this time. “Go fer it.”

Husk worded in such a way that was like a scholar examining an artifact. He made his bones with the situation a long while ago. Angel moved on, he knew. So, had he. And that was okay. This road wasn’t for them. Perhaps in other places and other times they were together, and in those other times and other places they worked it all out.

“Were we in love, Anthony?”

Angel shifted, staring at the winged cat.

“Or do you think it was just a fever dream? Kinda, you know, lookin’ for some escape?”

Angel provided another small, sad smile. He leaned over and planted a soft kiss on Husk’s cheek. “If ya’ had t’ask, Harold, I think’ ya know already.”

Husk smiled too. “Ah, yeah. Thought so.”

Another pause. Then: “Hey, for what it’s worth, I liked it a lot.”

“Me too,” said Angel. “When ya’ knew how t’mix a drink right!”

“Hey! I knew exactly what I was doin’.”

Angel laughed. “Oooh so ya’ sayin’ ya made me bad drinks on purpose?”

“All I had that night was a couple limes and triple-sec!”

They laughed together, like they hadn’t done for a long time, like they were back at the Hotel over a year ago, before all this came to a head.

Another stage Angel danced on.


	13. Slow Moving Tire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel and Thief are back home. They consider what to do about Arackniss.

**Slow Moving Tire**

“Welcome back, hey-yeah!”

“We missed you, yeah-hey!”

The visit came to a brisk end. Angel felt better, his heart lighter, his mind clearer. His boots clicked with a faster stride and he felt renewed, recharged. The overwhelming support of his friends made him realize how much he mattered, how much he was _worth_ to them _._ The genuine, unflinching readiness of his husband helped it all come together and for the spider, it was hard to put into words how much it meant.

Even still, it was time to keep treading. There was always tomorrow. Thief and Angel returned to their home the next morn, saying farewell to Charlie and company. Mynerva was ready, driving them back, until the reached the shoddy front lawn. Much to Angel’s surprise, the intelligent, oversized roaches – Ian and Earl – were waiting.

“Da’ fuck?” Angel blinked, stepping out of the car with Thief.

“I know they’re called weeds, guys, but it’s not that kind,” chided Thief, shutting the door behind him. Ian and Earl glanced at each other.

“What ya’ mean, hey yeah?”

“We just heard Angel had a huge buzz kill, yeah hey!”

Angel Dust, with Fat Nuggets in arms (of who he pet lovingly), tilted his head. “Eh?”

“We thought we’d do something nice, yeah hey!” the continued.

“We made nachos! And got the _good_ stuff, hey yeah!”

Thief crossed his arms. “You never leave the house. How good can it be?”

Angel closed his eyes, chuckled, and smiled. “Aha. Hah. ‘Preesh, boys. You’ze two knuckle heads ain’t so bad. But uhhhh, roll em’ and save one for me, alright?”

The roaches shared another look. “You sure, yeah hey?”

“This stuff’s hybrid, hey yeah!”

Angel nodded. “M’sure.”

Mynerva strode next to Anon and Angel, wiping her hands. “That’s all, bosses? I need some hooch. They didn’t have that at the Hotel!”

Thief rolled his eye. “Drop down from ten a day this time, would you?”

“. . .suuuure.”

Inside, things clicked back with surprising comfort. Angel looked at his home with renewed adoration. Cracks, peeled paint, whining doors, ruffled carpet? Didn’t matter. He was more of himself than he’d been in what felt like. . . forever. He’d come so far and he was still standing, still fighting. He wasn’t perfect, but then again, he didn’t want to be.

He set Nugs down and the little oink proceeded to squeak and scamper about, running in excited circles. He turned, glanced to Thief, and made a gesture with head to follow. Didn’t take a genius to figure that one out.

They went upstairs, back to the privacy of their room, and quickly, Angel embraced his partner. Six arms hugged Anon and yanked him in for a deep hug, of which Thief returned – though surprised.

“I take it you’re feeling better,” he chuckled, his prosthetic _carefully_ running across the spider’s back.

“Good observation, smart guy,” snickered Angel, smooching Anon’s cheek. “How ya’ feelin’?”

Thief blinked. “How am _I_ feeling?”

More laughs. “What, is ya’ goin’ loopy on me? Yeah! How’ze my guy? Ya’ been. . . fuckin’ amazin’, baby.”

Angel snapped his fingers. “On a fuckin’ drop, just, right there with me. I didn’t mean t’put ya’ through dat.”

Thief snorted. “Honey. _You’re_ doing the cute and stupid part now. Believe me, I’m all right. I’m happy to be there.”

He continued with a shrug. “You know me. I’d roll a fucker if would make you laugh.”

Angel offered a dark smile. “You’ze real fucked up, pockets.”

Again, another kiss. “But m’serious. Alright? I didn’t ferget ‘bout ya’.”

“You’ve never.”

Angel wasn’t so sure.

“Yeah, but all dat shit’s been about me, right? I just, ya’ know, like it when we chewin’ it. We’ze pals. We do it best when we talk n’stuff.”

There was a time when Thief often needed to hear Angel say that more than not. A time when he didn’t know who he could trust, when everyone was an enemy. And after all, how valid was the word of a hooker? If this was him a year ago, he’d need Angel to reaffirm his love like a mantra. Now? He never questioned it. Solid as a fucking rock, it was. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind Angel would always be there for him, and he the same.

Angel was right about being open, though.

“Mmm, well,” said Thief, departing the embrace and pulling off his Angel-made jacket. “There’s your brother.”

Angel nodded and crossed his arms. “Yeah. . .”

Thief set aside his attire, pulling out of his top. Angel flushed, watching the gentle sinew and delicate hint of muscle flex at Anon’s movements while he stripped out of his top.

“Didn’t mention it what with the. . . problems,” Anon went on, sitting on the edge of their bed. “But I have been talkin’ with Hox.”

Once again, were it a year ago, Thief would _never_ have spoken about this so open and cordially, especially not with Angel – a misguided notion of protection and paranoia.

Thief adjusted the patch to his eye. “I can tell you. Or wait.”

Angel undressed as well, folding his clothes and setting aside jewelry. “What kinda’ cannoli is it dis’ time? He takin’ up the pole now too?”

Thief gave a quiet laugh at the idea. “Not so lucky for us. He and his fuck-buddy are knocking a few places over, stealing things.”

Angel groaned and gave an exaggerated eye roll. “Oh greeeaaaat.”

“Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?”

The spider frowned, pranced to the bed, tossed himself into it and gave a big ‘ugh.’ “What is it wit’ ya’ fuckin’ dudes and yoinkin’ shit?”

Thief counted off his fingers. “Theft, gay, hat, mob ties. Seeing a pattern.”

“Yeah, _very_ funny. Alright, what’s the problem though? Da’fuck is dis’ gettin’ at?”

Anon shook his head. He did feel good, though, discussing this so frankly with Angel. It provided him strength and warmth. “We don’t really know, exactly, but he _is_ jamming his dick into the Cartel’s business. And that’s bad, Angel.”

He looked to his spider. “Really bad.”

“Pfft,” snorted Angel, arms crossed again. He was bare now, fluff exposed. “So what? Ain’t afraid of no fuckin’ mob shitheads.”

Now Thief frowned. “Baby, this is the _Sinaloa._ This is different.”

“Dey’ sound stupid.”

Anon blinked. Did Angel Dust not understand?

. . .no. Not really. How could he? It dawned on Thief that this wasn’t Angel’s territory. It wasn’t his “world,” so to speak. Not this, not these criminals. He was a victim of sexual abuse, homophobia, sex trafficking, that whole mess, but it was different _sort_ of mess. Even with his family ties to the 40’s Mafia, Angel never had his arm deep into it. Alessandro, maybe, but Anthony?

But Thief did. This is what he came from, this brand of the world and evil. Even as a foot soldier for the _Genovese,_ he was in proximity to the Sinaloa, if for nothing else than the drugs they ran. That’s how far they went. They were less a gang Cartel and more a shadow power with enough influence to operate as a worldwide empire.

And Angel’s brother was fucking around with their caches.

“Your brother,” Thief started again, “And Pentious are getting into some shit they shouldn’t. These fuckers are personal, they will make it hurt if they take notice. And if they can’t hurt your brother, they’ll find someone else.”

Angel groaned, exasperated. Not that Anon blamed him. “Fuckin’ _god._ First he pumps pricks and now cause’ o’him we’ze gonna’ have problems?”

“Yes. That’s what we’re thinking.”

Angel gave an angry laugh. “And somehow you’ze ain’t involved.”

“Crazy, right?”

Angel raised his hands, taking a breath. “Alright, alright, okay. Fuck, fine, jeeze. We can figure dis’ out.”

Thief went quiet, but he agreed. They had to.

“Once da’ fuck again,” Angel groused, “We’ze savin’ everybody’s asses. Buncha ungrateful fucks!”

Thief didn’t want to get in so deep right after Angel was feeling so much better, but they at least had to consider what lie ahead. “We can’t take on the Sinaloa. Nobody can. They’ve got the resources to fight for. . . fuck, who knows.”

He sighed. “Pentious, sure, he’s got power and resources. He can scrap with them a while, yeah? Assuming it turned into a gang war. But the cartel’ll do _anything_ to keep their profit line going. Down Here, Up There, all of it.”

Angel rolled his eyes. “I get da’ picture.”

“I just wanna’ make it clear, is all.”

“Well then what’s da’ big plan, smart guy?”

The silhouette shifted, turned to his husband, caressing one of the spider’s arms. He squeezed. “Well. I think it’s about time you talked with your brother.”

Angel said nothing.

“If for nothing else, to convince him to get the fuck off this dick he’s riding.”

“Two.”

“What?”

Angel pouted, looking at their room window. “Sir-pent-dick has two of’em.”

“. . .is that a yes?”

Again, Angel said nothing.

“Well, at any rate, there’s no guarantee that can work. Pentious might be too ambitious. So. . .”

The spider snort-chuckled. “Heeeere it comes.”

“We have to fuck up their big knock-over job.”

Angel shifted, pushed himself up to sit on haunches, pulled his knees into fluff cleavage. “Now what da’hell does that even mean?”

“Hox thinks Pentious will go after a Sinaloa bank or depot. Something that has. . . hell if I know. Weapons. Exterminator weapons. Something he can use. But, if that got all fucked sideways and looked like somebody else did it. . . the Cartel would just be left on their ass.”

Angel stared at his husband, studied him like he were a living, moving math equation transitioning from one complex equation to the next. He blinked, over and over, just to make sure his Anon was real. “Wait. Huh?”

Angel raised his arms, wiggling them. “Da’ _fuck?_ You’ze. . . wanna’ do the opposite of a stealy-job? Like, stop one? Like, make it go all fucked?”

The irony wasn’t lost on Thief. He smiled.

“Assuming Hox has good info. Assuming Pentious wants to do what we’re thinking. But, yes.”

The spider processed the words, huffed, then shrugged. “N’allright. I said we’ze figured it out. We did.”

Then, he raised a finger. “One thing.”

“Uh huh?”

_“We needs a car.”_


	14. Prep Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel gives his husband's prosthetic a quick examination.

**Prep Work**

“It’s fine. I can do this myself.”

Anon never did quite get used to the prosthetic and loss of eyesight on one side of him. It was always a personal, harrowing reminder of – perhaps – his greatest failure. It almost cost him everything – the _Chigurh_ job, this failure. His life, sure, but more importantly, what he had with Angel Dust. He considered himself _insanely_ lucky to get away with an arm eye intact, given the circumstances. _But still._ The _Saint’s Arm_ was an eternal, physical atonement. The scars on his face were too, and sometimes, in his most private of moments, he felt repulsed by what he saw.

“Don’t start sassin’,” cut in the casual, sultry tone of Angel. “Getcha’ stuff off.”

Anon waved it off. “It’s _okay._ Really.”

_“Honey.”_

The spider’s warning tone was enough to get Thief to listen. He wasn’t getting into a debate, not with their need to act soon so close on the horizon.

Still, Anon sighed.

Dammit, Vaggie, did you really need to call? Earlier, she phoned in like a nagging nanny, specifically to Angel. In her call, she told the spider that checking Anon’s prosthetic – among things – was something they needed to routinely do. While chance for inflammation and infection was pretty slim, it was important. Anon didn’t like that. Anon didn’t like having to expose himself _this_ way. It wasn’t the same as shifting into bed or getting unclothed with his husband. . . it was personal, almost embarrassing. He didn’t need to be doted on like a kid, he could check himself!

“Come on.”

And then Angel’s soft, sweet voice made it all better. Quietly, Anon unbuttoned. They were in their bedroom, dim lights on, while Angel had a bag of medical tools on the sheets – just in case. He helped Anon out of his shirt, tugging at the suit top and laying the clothes aside. Anon’s back was to the spider, though he visibly tensed, not too dissimilar from the first time Angel had firsthand seen the poor state of Thief’s arm a year ago.

“Mmkay. Sit.”

Anon wanted to protest, but he didn’t. He plopped on the bed’s edge while the lithe spider gave him a once over.

“Screech says I’m s’posed t’ask ya’ a few things,” said Angel, pulling a paper of scribbled notes out of his puffy fluff cleavage. “Make sure we’ze all peachy. Okay?”

Thief made a face. “Fine, fine.”

“Ey! Don’t pout.”

“I’m _not.”_

The spider snickered. “If we’ze nabbin’ a ride I need to check ya’, so, save ya’ grumbles fer somebody else, pockets.”

Angel tapped his own head. “Dat means the patch, too.”

Ugh, what was this, a doctor visit? Anon clenched his jaw and pulled off said patch, exposing the rest of him. His whole upper torso, a map of injuries. His left eye was a useless blotch of black sclera now. The iris – once white – now faded out. Angel thought it was cute they “matched” but for Anon it was just less for him to see his spider with. And the arm? Self-explanatory. Without the prosthetic, a stub, a husk.

“G’boy,” Angel smirked. “Just relax.”

Anon was quiet while Angel squinted over the notes. “Lessee. . . ya’ got any pain when movin’ ya arm?”

“No. Well, no, not exactly.”

Angel tilted his head. “Pockets, I ain’t a doc. What’s dat even mean?”

Anon wasn’t sure himself. “I dunno. The arm is gone. But sometimes I feel like it isn’t.”

Angel frowned and looked at his paper. “Snatch didn’t say nothin’ ‘bout that. . .”

“Well, it doesn’t hurt.”

Angel nodded. “Good! Ain’t so bad den. How bout’ ya’ fancy arm? Hard to move?”

Thief shook his head.

They went down a row of questions then, and each time Angel did a careful, meticulous glance at Anon’s skin. He rain his uncovered fingers over the shadowy flesh, pressing and squeezing, searching for points of discomfort. Were he not so gentle, Anon would’ve resisted plenty. Once satisfied, Angel tapped the Saint’s Arm.

“M’kay. We needs t’get this off.”

“. . .all right.”

Angel raised his hands. “C’mon, tough guy, it’s just me. Ain’t gonna’ hurt ya’. We’ze done it before.”

Then, the spider continued by running his digits over the brass-hued appendage. “But babe, I gotta’ know how to check ya n’shit. Learn how all dis’ fancy stuff works, er whatever. Ya’ helped me, so, lemme’ help _you.”_

He was right, of course. “I know, I know,” said Thief with a nod. “Guess I feel. . . lesser for it.”

Angel quirked a brow. “Don’t that fucker have all sortsa’ fancy shit on it?”

Thief chuckled. “Yes. That’s what I mean. What am I without it?”

“My husband.”

Anon went quiet again.

“Cute n’stupid, pockets. Now, how do I get it off?”

Anon returned to attention and made a vague gesture towards himself. “Ah. It’s those three knobs on the shoulder. They have to be twisted clockwise, once, to the right.”

Angel leaned, his perfumed, fluffy body pushing into Anon’s own. “So, jaggin’ off three tiny cocks. . .”

The spider did as instructed, the mechanisms hissing as the prosthetic loosened. Once done, the Saint’s Arm released its grip and unclenched from Anon’s side, revealing the absence of his left arm. Never a comforting feeling. In fact, Anon found himself wanting the arm on more often than not. With one arm, he couldn’t even hold Angel the same way!

“See? Ain’t so bad,” cooed Angel, giving the prosthetic a once over. “And it don’t look like you’ze in rough shape.”

Where Thief mostly averted his gaze, Angel looked the stub over like it was a simple, routine thing. “Hmm. . . Vags told me t’look for like, uh, in-fla-may-shun?”

“Inflammation.”

“Yeah, dat.”

A finger traced over the stub. “Don’t see any. Dat’s good!”

Thief tossed him a glance. “You sure about that?”

A shrug. “I’unno.”

That was good enough for Anon. “Well, it doesn’t hurt.”

“Den like I said, dat’s _good.”_

Angel continued his inspection by running his hands over Anon’s torso, specifically where Sarin’s old toxins fucked him over. He tensed at first, given he didn’t like the feeling of being inspected meat. But as Angel’s digits traced and explored, a sense of ease took him. These days, there weren’t many things Thief was genuinely unsettled about, at least not like back when he and the spider first dated. But his injuries were the exception, certainly, a lurking fear in his mind that perhaps Angel might find his scars too gruesome.

Quite foolish to assume such after all this time, because every caring, gentle motion by Angel proved the contrary.

“Move a bit to’da side, hun,” Angel would comment, peering at Thief’s neck. When he did, Angel nodded.

“Hmm. Yeah. Ain’t seein’ nothin’. You’ze lookin’ spiff, babe.”

Angel continued his attentions as a palm drifted to Thief’s right arm, specifically his shoulder, then bicep, squeezing at the subtle hints of harder muscle. Anon didn’t have an exact workout, but by nature of what he did and what he was always doing – constantly in motion – he’d built up.

“Mmm. . . I like dis’ too. . .” purred Angel, feeling the arm.

“That’s not the left side, Angel,” Anon tossed with a smirk.

“Yeaaah, yeah.”

Satisfied, Angel straightened, putting his list aside. “Ya’ fine. Ain’t seein’ any problems.”

He wiggled one of his extra hands in front of Thief’s blinded eye. “Can’t see here, yeah?”

“Pretty much the same,” Anon answered. “Just blotchy and cloudy.”

“Yeh. I figured. Shame about dat’.”

For a moment, Thief frowned. “Hmm?”

Angel realized he made it sound like he disapproved of the injury. “Oh, naw babe, I don’t mean it like _dat._ Just figured it would, I’unno, grow back er’ somethin’?”

Then he grumbled. “Dumb bunny bitch used somethin’ all fancy though, right?”

That was the reason for the injury permanence. “As far as I know,” said Thief. “Like holy water.”

A pause. No going back, of course. And, as much as Thief resented aspects of the injury and the arm, he made peace with it too. It was who he was now. To come out on top (mostly) after such harrowing events, that was pretty lucky. If it cost an arm and an eye to be with his husband, it was well worth the trade. The spider was worth so much more.

“Well, you’ze look okay,” finished Angel. “You _feel_ okay?”

Given that Angel’s brother was a confrontation among the other myriad of problems. . . oddly. . . yes.

“Best I’ve been,” said Thief, truthful. “For a long, long time.”

Angel returned this with a warm, affectionate smile. “M’glad. Feelin’ the same. Is dat weird? Like, I’m so. . .”

“Calm?”

“Calm.”

Anon grabbed his prosthetic and positioned it back on the sub, where Angel helped wordlessly. It was a casual, smooth gesture, unspoken and perfect, like a small dance, but it spoke volumes of their connection and quiet understanding.

“Given the fuckstorms we’ve been through. . . I don’t think so.”

Once again, the prosthetic latched into place. Anon flexed it, comfortable. He stared at the metal fixture, gazing and studying the digits. What an odd thing, this arm.

“As long as I’ve got you, Angel, I don’t lose.”

The spider snorted. “How romantic.”

“Speaking of,” Anon said, shifting the subject. “Think about what you’ll say?”

Angel blinked. “Who? T’my dipshit brother? I gots me some words, yeah.”

“And the car?”

Here, Angel grinned. “Oooo, gots a little pick-me-up. Pooch knew a guy who knew a guy. Gots us a little hookup, yeh? Gonna’ fuckin blow da’rest of m’cash on it, but you’ll love her.”

Thief, distracted from the arm, brightened. “You gonna’ tell me her name?”

“Itsa’ surprise.”

Hmm. This was either a great – or terrible thing. Angel’s idea of a surprise could involve an explosion or twelve. “Alright. When?”

Angel glanced upward, thinking. “Bout’ afternoon, t’morrow.”

Moving quick then. But that was good. Whatever Pentious had up his sleeves, he was bound to try something, and soon. The question lied in what Thief and Angel had to do. Anthony confronting Alessandro on, well, everything certainly, but would it require an approach more _direct?_ Did it need sabotage?

At any rate, Thief buttoned back up, feeling better. But as he reached to place the patch back on, Angel stopped him.

“Keep it off,” said the spider, gentle. “I like it dis’ way.”

Thief only smiled, while the spider’s palm caressed the side of his cheek, thumbing over the scars. “Why hide watcha’ got?”

His husband chuckled. “Causes problems if you don’t, right?”

Angel gave a head tilt. “It do?”

“I have no idea.”

The spider smirked. “Well, I can tell you’ze from experience it’s fun takin’ it off.”

“I’ll remember that when I work a pole.”

They shared a laugh and eased into the other’s arms, much like they always did. The moment was peaceful and caring, precious. Like before, like so many times previous, a storm was brewing. Perhaps not quite as large as the catastrophic events that had taken place before, but it was familiar. Yet, oddly, Angel and Thief had no fear. Concern, yes, but rather than viewing the tidal wave in panic, it was more fascination, experience.

They could lose all they own and have each other, having lost nothing at all.


	15. Sometimes, That’s All You Need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel brings in the big guns with a new set of wheels.

**Sometimes, That’s All You Need**

A whisper of smoke snaked into the evening air, caught against the miasmatic lights of the distant Pentagram City. The silhouette nursed it here and there, back pressed against the graffiti-painted brick, now and again glancing down the road, waiting.

His counterpart, the taller Hellhound, gulped a couple fingers of hard scotch before stowing it away, straightening patchy suit. “It’s in my professional opinion he forgot about his appointment. He’s a busy man, what with the drugs and violence and all.”

Thief glanced at Mynerva. “He’ll be here.”

The alabaster demon shrugged. “Right. Well, I’ll go warm up the engine.”

“Mynerva,” pressed Thief, “It’s _only_ been half an hour.”

She snorted. “ _Only.”_

Thief took one last drag of his cig before flicking it away. “Not all that professional to abandon your post, is it? I’m the body, you guard, right?”

Mynerva crossed her arms and groaned. “I _did_ leave that on the business card, didn’t I? Really need to get that changed. . .”

“How’d you even get into this business?”

She blinked. “Several cases of identify fraud. It’s a long story, but a good one.”

Thief raised his prosthetic. “Forget I asked.”

He was content waiting, at any rate, _especially_ for his spider. Angel insisted on the “surprise,” after all. Apparently, he had deep running connections and was owed a pretty hefty favor, so hefty it enabled him to acquire something. Specially, _a vehicle._ It was a welcome change, cause holy shit, Thief and Angel had been trouncing around the city in the back of cabs and other vehicles for well over a year now. Considering what lie ahead, regarding the business with Alessandro, among things, they were at their limit. Enough was enough, the boys needed some wheels.

Thus, Angel asked for Thief to wait at a street corner not too far from his contact. He’d come back, but not empty handed. Instead, behind the engine of. . . well, Anon didn’t know, but he’d find out soon. Mynerva, of course, _had_ to tag along, damned by her contractual obligations. So, they were idle here, left to dawdle until Angel arrived.

“What _do_ you need a fancy car for anyway?” asked Mynerva. Probably out of boredom. “We’ve got mine.”

“An aquamarine Cadillac with a missing light isn’t exactly reassuring,” intoned Anon. “Not for this.”

Mynerva prodded at her gold teeth with a toothpick. “This, and what is ‘this?’”

“Angel’s brother is getting into shit he shouldn’t be,” said Anon. “That’s what.”

“And?”

 _“And,”_ Anon said, turning to Mynerva and glaring at her, “It affects us. All of us. Gangs are spiteful. You fuck with them, they make an example out of you.”

“What are you, their fanclub?”

“Call it experience,” he answered. “I’d feel better in a car that won’t shit itself in a chase.”

“ _Chase?”_

He turned away, looking down the road. “Yeah. Chase.”

“Just do your job,” he went on, “That’s it. Angel’s bringing the car. We’re getting _in_ the car. We’re staying at a motel tonight. Got it?”

Mynerva shook her head. “ _No.”_

Anon smirked. “Well. Too bad.”

“Look, as your security adviser, it’s my job to at least understand your general insanity. I won’t question it, but work with me here.”

Anon considered explaining more. It was fairly straightforward, in fact – he was meeting with Hox again to follow up on a small lead. Said lead would be the falling domino that _might_ interfere with Pentious’ schemes, thereby allowing Angel to act and confront his brother. But as he mulled it over, a noise caught his attention. It was distinguished and unique, event against the background of the city’s chaotic ambiance. [Like the groan of a distant animal, a motorized roar, defiant.](https://youtu.be/ietU5yUJ7zk)

Thief straightened, looking towards the sound’s direction. Mynerva did too, ears flagging.

He could feel it. Like a heartbeat calling to him, Anon’s soul shuddered in blissful proximity. A rush of intangible excitement and adrenalin surged into his frame, coupled with the sensation of power, speed, and force. The sound boldened, growing louder, the unmistakable scream of a powerful engine working into overdrive as it barreled down the road. In the distance, he could see the silhouette of an object push into view, its black, metallic frame shifting colors as the city lights rolled over its exterior in a blur of frantic neon hues.

Anon was gobsmacked. It was Angel Dust. He knew it, because their souls sang in unison. What the spider experienced, so did he, and it was _thrilling._ He felt utterly defenseless as his lover approached, like a wild animal were on the way to embrace him.

He expected a car, but not a speed demon!

“Fuck. . .”

In a triumphant scream, the vehicle exploded into view, tires eating at the asphalt as it sped into view. Bone shaking, heart breaking, soul-vibrating power radiated from the auto as it came to a screeching halt in front of the pair. Shining black metal married to the frame of a powerhouse, that of a muscle car, one that existed for a brief period, now here to reign hell on the denizens of, well, Hell.

A _Boss Mustang 429_ – year 69, specifically.

The engine still on, it hummed like a slumbering behemoth. The door clicked open, and out stepped the slender leg of one familiar spider. Angel Dust clicked it close behind him, leaned his back on the vehicle, and wore a devilish, suggestive grin, gold-tooth glinting.

His midriff exposed, he wore a tight black jacket, _tighter_ black leather pants, and red low-cut top. Put him on a chopper and you’d probably see every inch of his supple rear, his attire practically painted on.

“Surprise!” he said, patting the _Boss._

Anon went lightheaded, grabbing Mynerva for support. “G-ghnn. . .”

Mynerva gawked too. “Angel, is. . . it too late to marry you? For strictly platonic reasons, obviously.”

Anon was still struggling. “A-Angel. . . you. . .t-this. . . how. . .what. . .”

Angel titled his head, making a show of the vehicle, and himself. “I take it you’ze approve.”

“I need to sit down. . .” said Anon, grabbing his head.

“How ‘bout the driver’s seat, pockets?”

Anon stared. Was it possible to fall in love with someone all over again? Angel gestured for him to approach, and Anon – wobbly of leg – did. At once, the spider snared his hands and pressed his warm, hot lips into his man. “Mmmm.”

Thief returned it, sweeping his arms around Angel’s back, hot panting escaping him. “Fuck. Might be a _little_ turned on right now.”

Angel chuckled. “Yeah, I can _feel_ ya’.”

Still in disbelief, Anon was curious.

“How?” managed Anon, looking at the _Boss._ “It looks _expensive.”_

Angel shrugged. “I told you’ze, fella’ owed me. ‘Sides, I was _very_ persuasive. Guy’ll get real diplomatic-like when you’ze got a knife under his jaw, nehehe.”

Anon grinned now. “You crazy bitch.”

“You fuckin’ _know it,_ baby.”

Thief was caught between wanting to take his husband, here and now, “baptize” this car in an act of impulsive sexual congress. . . or just get in the goddamn thing.

“Never wanted to be inside two things at once,” he grumbled, caressing Angel. The spider snickered.

“Ain’t nothin’ like a beej on the road,” he suggested, kissing Anon. “But. . . ain’t we’ze got somewhere to be?”

Thief took a breath, sorting himself out, nodding. They did. Granted, they had time for what lie ahead, but being in the right place as he planned out was important. Anon had accounted for the details _he_ knew. If something changed, he didn’t want it to be because he was slow on the draw. And hey, there was always the motel.

“So?” pressed Angel. “Ya’ gonna’ pop er cherry?”

Cute. Anon glanced back to Mynerva, who still gawked. “ _Still_ taking the Cadillac?”

Mynerva swept her white hair and adjusted her suit. “Rider-car confidentiality stipulates I can get in the backseat at least _once.”_

Getting into the _Boss_ was like entering a different world. Anon couldn’t remember the last time he sat his ass behind the wheel of a pure, raging machine with this level of horsepower. The seats were comfortable, dashboard retro-styled, and the droning hum of the auto’s engine rattled his fingers. Even better? Like a vision, a beacon, his husband was next to him, dash lights playing off his white fluff as the spider crossed his legs. Put him on a pinup, cause Devil below he looked fucking amazing.

Angel knew it, grinning, while Mynerva piled into the backseat.

“I take it ya’ like her,” said Angel while Anon shifted into gear. “Mm, ya’ look good with’er too. Matches yer jacket.”

“Easy baby,” purred Thief, “I can only get so hard.”

He pressed on the gas, revving. A residual roar countered him, a dragon stirred to life. Not exactly subtle or stealthy, but so what? Besides, when was _Angel_ every stealthy?

“Take me fer a riiiiiide!” hollered Angel, buckling in. Anon strapped in too, changing lanes. Goddamn. It was like he was a young, living man again, pumping the wheels post-heist, fueled by adrenalin, drugs, and success. Now though, it was better. Beautiful spider at his side, he felt unstoppable. Funny how a good car did that.

Taking no more time, Thief pushed into the gas and promptly speared the _Boss_ forward. Sheer force shoved him into his seat, taking him off guard. It had been a _while,_ but he adjusted quickly. Soon, the city around the vehicle shifted to a multicolored blur, neon dancing on the polished exterior frame. Hard not to take notice of the mechanical demon, but not like the city denizens could do much about it.

When Anon shifted gear again, he felt Angel’s palm gently rest atop his forearm. In that beautiful moment of unified decisions, they operated together, hearts, minds, and souls perfectly in sync. There was nothing like tearing asphalt down a chaotic city with someone you loved so deeply.

-*-

The motel they opted far lie deeper in the city, a tall, uninteresting building with dingy red brick and collapsing infrastructure. But it wasn’t for luxury, it was for _observing_ from. It was also low-key, something Thief preferred, especially considering the vehicle his husband nabbed.

They arrived their in a blink. Or, maybe it _felt_ that way. The _Boss’_ speed was something to behold and Anon knew he hadn’t even tapped into the wellspring of mechanical power. And, she held up with no engine problems, stopped as desired, and handled turns well. These were important qualities. The more control you possessed at higher speeds, the better. When the car finally groaned to a stop, Anon heaved a long, satisfied sigh, much like he would after a romp with Angel.

Angel Dust laughed as the ignition keyed off. “Fuck, she rides th’road like a dick! Nice n’smooth.”

“Damn,” Anon muttered. “Just. . . damn.”

Mynerva, dizzy, didn’t move. “I’d like to propose _this_ is my motel room for tonight.”

“No chance, pooch!” chided Angel. “I gots extra space back there fer a reason, heh.”

Didn’t take much to figure out what the spider meant. Still, Anon found a spot in front of the motel, parked and exited the vehicle, adjusting his jacket. The warm city air fell over him, along with its whining chaotic ambiance, blitzkrieg of lights painting his vision. They were farther in now, in one of the busier parts of the West Side. They had to be for what he was contemplating.

Angel appeared at his side, looking it over. “Ain’t been ‘round here in a long time,” he commented. “Actually. . . don’t ‘member last time I was.”

“I’m not surprised,” said Thief. “It’s gang territory.”

Angel realized what that implied. “Oh.”

They had time. “We can think about that later,” reassured Thief. “We’ve got a few hours.”

Here, the spider turned to him. “Issat’ right?”

Thief knew _that_ look. “It is.”

Angel glanced to the motel behind them. “Mm, feels familiar. . . could use some of dat. . .”

“. . let’s at least get in the door.”

It was hard just leaving their new lady all alone like that, and by god Thief looked forward to the next time he could press the pedal. For now, though, it was time to focus. They weren’t out here just for joyriding. Hox had a lead and it was time to follow up on it.

Streets out here were part of _Sinaloa_ territory, or at least, where they shuffled around some of their cargo. What the cargo was, specifically, varied. Could’ve been anyone’s guess. Drugs, money, weapons, or all three? Thief had to assume the worst. Point was, the motel he picked out wasn’t for its illustrious draw. Rather, the building gave a perfect observational standpoint of a bank just a few blocks away. It was a criminal bank – like they all were – but a bank still, even if was in Hell. Unassuming on the out and inside, it operated as a front for _Sinaloa_ who stowed some of their inventory there. Not too dissimilar from the warehouse job Thief and Hox ran over not so long ago.

According to the Doberman demon, his feelers in the city mentioned there was a planned drop, possibly tonight. At the latest, tomorrow, but the hint was strong enough to put Anon in motion. And why? Because buzz and drunk mutters _also_ landed Hox another hot tip: Sir Pentious and Arackniss were looking to make a little move. Something about _this_ particular cargo delivery was important enough the snake would show his scales.

If they wanted to stop the Overlord from pissing gas on fire, they had to do something. Thief, of course, kept Angel in the loop the whole way, prompting the spider to get the vehicle all quick-like. Or, maybe Angel _really_ wanted an excuse to take the _Boss_ for a spin.

Took a lot of self-control not to imagine his husband flying down the road in the driver’s seat, all manic and attractive.

In the meantime, they settled in for the night, taking the available rooms on the top floor. Said room was about as good as it got considering the standards of Hell (working water, actual windows, doors with a lock!), but it would do. Mynerva was the other side, bringing along the arsenal, “Hers and His,” along with her own assortment of “resources.”

“Naha, what a fuckin’ dump,” Angel snorted as the pair entered their room, smirking at the shitty peeled walls and old carpet. “Not bad.”

“Don’t get too cozy,” said Thief, setting a bag on the bed. “We shouldn’t have to stay the night. I hope.”

“Aww, but all th’fun stuff happens at night!”

Thief didn’t respond, not at once, rather went to the window. In the provided bag was a small scope on a tripod, which gave him a focused view of the bank. Like the days when he was alive, _this_ was how he broke down a mark. Time and observation, taking notes about quirks and oddities, identifying guards, patrol cars, deliveries, etc. Granted, he didn’t have the time for fancy stuff – this was only to denote when the shipment was incoming. But he knew it, and there was certainty in that knowledge.

“Yeah,” intoned Thief distracted. “Hah. Well. Finally got you to come on an official job, didn’t I?”

Angel tilted his head. “What, dat warehouse don’t count?”

“I’d rather it not.”

Angel snickered. “Dat’s fair. Gonna’ be honest though, pockets, thissa’ pretty borin’ score so far.”

“It’s how they’re supposed to be,” said Anon. “The casino took me weeks. Months, if I counted the time before I met you. These things take time and patience.”

The spider stuck out his tongue. “Eww.”

Thief chuckled. “I’m _sure_ we’ll think of something to do.”

“Maybe. . .” intoned Angel, making a bit of a show of himself. “How’s dis s’posed to go down, anyway?”

While they had a lead, what it meant was up in the air, unfortunately. Anon crossed his arms, mulling it over.

“We just wanna’ see what happens when the hornet’s nest gets fucked with, if that make sense.”

Angel snorted. “Where da’fuck we’ze getting hornets!?”

“Ahaha. What I mean, peppermint, is I want to see what the gang does if they feel. . . threatened. If their cargo is targeted, what do they do? What’s the response, that sort of thing. I’m _thinking_ they’ll change their deposit run if they see something’s up.”

He gestured at the window. “Imagine, basically: truck comes in, truck gets fucked with, truck leaves. Sir-double-dick and your brother can’t make their big move. And, ya’ know, keeps us out of _Sinaloa_ crosshairs.”

Angel’s face scrunched up, thinking the idea over, running a hand through his fluff. “Mmkay. And if none of dat goes like ya’ think?”

“Then I hear the North Side is nice this time of year.”

Angel wiggled his fingers. “Oooh, big bad sinny boys. M’so scared.”

“Yeah, well,” grumbled Anon, “I’m glad you got a fast car, I’ll put it like that.”

“Ya worried too much, baby,” said the spider, coming to his husband and rubbing his shoulders. “Ya know what you’ze doin’.”

“I _do?”_

“Naw,” snickered Angel. “You’ze fuck it up every time, but, it always works out, don’t it?”

Thief chuckled. “Yeah.”

He looked past his husband, at a mirror.

He looked at You. “It does, doesn’t it?”

Anon embraced Angel Dust and breathed in his scent, the fluffy odor mixed with perfume. “I’m with you, all that matters.”

“Mmmm.”

Thief looked him over. “And if this goes the way I hope, it gives you time to do what you need to do.”

“Ya’ mean shove my fist up Alessandro’s ass?”

Thief wiggled his head. “Careful, he might be into that now.”

“Pfeh.”

Angel’s mismatched eyes went down, looking at the floor. Here, Thief spoke to his man in as most a reassuring way as possible. “Know what you want to say?”

“It’ll come t’me.”

“I bet. I’m hoping we can get Pentious off this insane bullshit too, for all our sakes.”

Angel crossed his extra arms. “Just leave dat part t’me too.”

Thief couldn’t imagine what that meant, but he trusted Angel, so if the spider had something, the spider would _do_ something.

“Ugh, could use a shot or three,” commented Angel as the weight of the situation formed. Thief was with him.

“We can nab a drink. I think Hox is. . . busy.”

Angel shot him a look. “What, red rocket gettin’ his nob-slobbed by the goaties?”

“Ah, no, I think he’s setting up.”

The spider laughed, sauntered to the door, and gestured for his husband. “Hahahah, _yeah._ Sure.”

“He’s settin’ up like you ain’t starin’ at my ass.”

“. . .uh.”

Well, he got him there.

As they locked up their temp room, Thief remembered.

“Can we take the car?”

Angel gave a wild grin. “ _You fuckin’ know it.”_

Where this was all headed, and _what_ specifically Pentious was so stir crazy over – enough he wanted to hassle the _Sinaloa_ – Anon didn’t know. But what he _did_ know is he had a sexy spider husband with a sexy car.

Sometimes that’s all you needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally got to use Turbo Lover and it felt so gooooood.


	16. Momentum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thief and Angel make their move.

**Momentum**

“Dis is borin’.”

Angel huffed, arms crossed, his back against the graffiti-covered brick as the sounds of Pentagram City washed over him. Thief peeked over the side of the alley, making sure he and Hox’s ‘trap’ was set.

“You know,” said the Doberman demon, his gray features lit up by a cig, “Nice to be workin’ together again, eh kiddo?”

Angel snorted. “Mudda’fucker I’m probably older’n you!”

“Age is a state of mind, babe.”

The three met up a while ago – that was to say, Anon, Angel, and Hox. Mynerva was on an opposing side of the street, covering them as a pair of extra eyes. Once Thief and Hox grouped up, they implemented their scheme. Essentially, prodding the wasp’s nest, nothing more, a method to examine how the _Sinaloa_ might react to a “hostile” encounter. And, indirectly, to thwart whatever Pentious was attempting. Messy, but that was the point.

Thief peeked around the alley corner. Streets weren’t as busy as usual. Or at least, not around the bank exterior. That said a lot. There was clearly a layer of respect (or terror) regarding the building’s presence, a quiet demonstration of the Sinaloa’s influence. It worked to Thief’s advantage, at least slightly. Less eyes meant less chances of being seen, especially with Angel around.

“Yeah, well,” continued the spider, “Figured for all dis trouble we’d be blowin’ shit up.”

“That’s the idea,” countered Hox. “Just on a more. . . metaphorical level, ya’ know?”

“Da _fuck?”_

Thief didn’t see or hear the transport, so he turned to the duo. “Controlled explosion, hon. We’re not levelling a building.”

Angel frowned, glancing at his husband. “Well what’s da’ fuckin’ point!?”

“Not dying in a really terrible way, mainly.”

Angel rolled his eyes. “Pfft.”

Thief came to Angel, voice lower. “And anyway, this is probably the opening you need. If Pentious shows up, so will his boy toy.”

Angel didn’t respond at once, grumbling, crossing his arms. “One or the other.”

Anon made a small smile. “You ready for that?”

Ready indeed. Angel mulled it over, his features tugged with a frown, thinking what lie ahead. Yep, time to just give it to his brother, ol’ Racky, little Alessandro, the guy that sided with dad on just about everything. The guy that was in the Family business and put on the raging homophobe act, _just like dad._ Time for Angel to just. . . scream his head off at him, right? Get it all out there, cause of course it was that simple, yeah?

“Um.”

Hox checked his watch, stamping out his cig. “We got about ten minutes here, if my leads were right.”

Anon noted the hesitation in the spider’s voice. “. . .Angel?”

Angel chewed at his fingers. “Maybe. . . dis’ ain’t the best idea.”

Huh. Was he afraid? “Having second thoughts?”

Angel faltered again. “I. . . I dunno, just, fuck, s’kinda complicated. Or is it? Shit, I thought I’d just _know_ what t’do when the time came, but now’m all. . . I. . .”

He looked at Thief. “Maybe, I’unno, I should just call it n’go home.”

Anon took his husband’s hand, squeezing it. “I can’t pretend to know what it feels like but, I think this is something you’ve gotta’ do. But if you don’t, baby, I’m right with you, no matter what.”

Angel made a face, running a hand over his head fluff. “What if I _really_ fuck it up, though? M’fuckin pissed at my bro but like, I’unno. I wanna’ work dis shit out.”

Thief chuckled, the sound of the city behind. “You won’t. You’re smart as shit. You’re strong. And, ignoring our, uh, history, your brother is _not_ your father.”

Angel was silent.

“He’ll listen. If he doesn’t, make him. If he still doesn’t, fuck him, I guess.”

“Yeah,” mumbled Angel. “Guess it’s just off. Last time I saw him was. . . at da place, and well, dat night was fucked.”

“You’ve come a long way.”

Angel snickered. “ _We_ have.”

Thief smiled again, squeezing harder. “True. So. What’ll it be, peppermint? Like I said, I’m with you.”

Angel groaned. “Ugh. Fuck you’n and your lovin’ supportin’ ass.”

“Heh.”

The spider conceded, nodding. “Yeah. I’ll do it. However it’s s’posed to go, anyway.”

He looked between the dog and shadow, realization hitting him. “Fuckin’ waitasec’, _how_ is dis’ spose to go?”

Hox looked over and tapped his watch, shifting attention away from the pep talk. “Set some basic charges out on the street there, where the shipment of whatever comes in. It blows, we stand and watch.”

Angel blinked. “Dat’s _it?”_

“Kinda,” Thief added. “We’ll see how the Sinaloa react, though I’ve got a hunch. We also keep an eye out for your brother, or Pentious.”

Hox nodded. “I’ve been gettin’ word it’s gonna be the twerp. I’m not sure what changed, cause I swore the snake was running this one.”

Angel narrowed his eyes. “I know ‘xactly fuckin’ why. Showoff. Wants t’prove himself. Dat was always his shit. With pops, or now his squeeze. Same deal.”

Thief rubbed his chin. “Well, in that case, makes finding him easier. We’re not sticking around the oven too long, so if it gets hot, we’re fucking _gone.”_

Angel tilted his head. “Yeesh. De’ze fuckers really got you over a barrel, eh toots?”

“I come from the mob. They’re all the same vindictive cunts with too much power. I’d prefer to keep that _away_ from us.”

“And m’brother.”

“That too.”

Hox took a breath. “Well boys, finish your makeup cause we’re about to find out.”

Anon did the same, collecting himself. “What are we looking for?”

“I think we’ll know it when we see it.”

-*-

It rolled into view like a leviathan made machine. In fact, that’s precisely what it was: a Leviathan class ADT. A heaving beast with six fat wheels, mounted turret, and near impenetrable frame, a body thick with Seraphic metal and the means to protect. And kill.

It roared into the street and Thief felt it in his bones, how the vehicle demanded respect by sheer proximity. Demons and Sinners cleared the street as the vehicle barreled towards the front of the “bank,” escorted by a smaller jeep. And there, within those vehicles, were figures. Armed head to toe, bearing personal armor and weaponry fit for a military unit. Though they varied in size given their Demonic makeup, it was clear they shared the same loyalty: these were the men of _Sinaloa,_ a gang with enough resources to maintain its strength, even in _Hell._

Hox coughed. “. . .are. . . are we sure we wanna’ do this?”

“If you don’t want one of those fuckers ramming the front Hotel door down, then _yes,”_ said Thief, uncertain himself.

Angel was silent, eyes wide. The reality of what he was dealing with finally settled over him. He’d seen a lot in his time, but even from here, he was admittedly unnerved. And, so was his hubs, that’s what gave him the chills the most. Anon was a guy with very few fucks when it came to “tough guys,” given what he'd countered, so if _this_ outfit caused concern. . .

Hox let off a sigh. “Oooookay boys. . .”

As the vehicle pushed towards the bank entrance, stopping, Hox took out his improvised switched and hit the signal.

A few seconds past. . . then, a surge of small explosions consumed the street. Small, white flashes, very weak overall, but enough they sent some debris here and there. Plenty of smoke too. Loud was key.

In an _instant,_ alarms blared and voices cried out. Gang members hopped out of their jeep and took perimeter positions while the Jeep rolled to a side angle, someone minding its mounted gun. A voice spoke out in a different language, issuing a warning to the crowd, and even firing off a few warning shots. Said rounds crackled the sky like lightning and it was terrifying to hear.

“Jesus. . .” Thief muttered.

That wasn’t all. Moments later, the distinct whir of a helicopter rattled the sky. Specifically, one designed for extended conflicts. It swooped towards the ADT, hovering above it, its loud blades obliterating any other sound and kicking up debris. Men jumped from its side while the back of the ADT hissed open.

Thief did his best to peer through it, having to shield his eye from the wind. He stood in front of Angel to block other debris as the gang members worked. They were quick. Efficient, brutal, and prepared. From the ADT an object was wheeled out – a flat, vertical surface. Actually, it was like a thin, clear rectangular container, holding. . . what? Paper?

It was deep blue with white scribblings, or so Thief could gather. A blueprint. What?

It hardly mattered because the men who emerged from the hovering chopper hooked it to another container and had it winched up. In seconds, the chopper tore off with the precious cargo, into the air, likely to a different, safe location. As it left, the ADT retreated and the bank’s outer doors slammed shut with metal barriers.

. . .several tanks showed up, positioning in front of the bank.

“They’ve got fucking tanks,” Hox rasped.

This was. . . this was an actual nightmare. Thief checked the time. It was less than a seven minute response, and Sinaloa demonstrated they were in perfect sync, touting military level resources and Devil knew what else. This was the kind of brutal efficiency mimicking their living counterparts, the kind of thing only possible from an organization that profited from drugs and violence for _decades._

“Anon,” Hox continued, nudging him. “Look.”

Pulling out of his stupor, Thief glanced to Hox’s indicated direction. To his left, a small vehicle sped away, followed by another. The design was “classic.” Like, 40’s style classic.

Angel noticed too. “Was dat’ fuckin’ him!?”

Thief had a hunch. Also, he wanted to get his husband the actual fuck out of here. He swiveled to Hox.

“Get Mynerva and get the fuck out of here until you’re safe. We’ll call her soon.”

Hox only nodded.

“C’mon, c’mon!” Angel protested. “He’s gettin’ away!”

“So are we.”

The two dashed away, careful to keep out of sight. That part, at least, proved easy, given both Anon and Angel benefited from his shadow-like abilities. Once they were clear, Anon pushed into the _Boss_ and keyed the ignition.

“Have you thought this through?” Anon said as Angel buckled in the passenger seat. “We’re just gonna, uh, run him off the road?”

Angel frowned. “Just catch em’.”

Anon switched gears, nodding. “Here we go.”

It was. . . tough. Real tough absorbing all that. Thief’s brain exploded with different questions, such as what the blueprint was about and why Pentious wanted to get his coils around it. What was so valuable he’d risk getting in deep with a gang like the Sinaloa?

Like a lot of things, he had to put it aside. They’d get answers from Alessandro, at least, and he prayed that this put a wrench in things with whatever Pent and Arackniss were planning. For now.

The vehicle screamed to life and made haste, roaring down the road and following the vehicles spied previous. It wasn’t hard because the _Boss_ was a merciless machine, with enough speed and power to track down the escaping cars like a wolf chasing prey.

They followed down the road, a burst of rain taking the sky, showering the roads below. A nauseous mix of Pentagram City’s colors played over the vehicle and wet streets while Angel leaned forward in his seat, teeth clenched.

“Angel. . .” chanced Thief. “What am I doing here? Am I knockin’ them off the road?”

The spider didn’t know. Not yet. “Just. . . just follow em’. . .”

“Alright.”

Angel huffed, adjusting his black leather-jacket attire and summoning an assault rifle. Thief glanced, careful to mind the road with his blind spot.

“Uh. That’s a conversation starter, is it?”

There was some traffic, and they were forced to stop, with the followed cars only a few spaces ahead.

“Dis is all so fucked,” Angel muttered. “I. . . can’t believe he’d be dis stupid.”

“Well, believe it now.”

Angel closed his eyes, taking a long breath. “Anon. Anon I’dunno what m’gonna do. I’m just gonna’.”

“I don’t blame you.”

The spider looked to his husband, a source of strength and reassurance. “. . .if I start shootin’, you gonna shoot too?”

No hesitation. “Let’s hope we don’t have to.”

He looked at Angel. “But I will kill everyone with you, if you need me to.”

Angel gave a light snicker. “Dunno’ if dat’s romantic or if you’ze a pyscho.”

“Could be both.”

Angel looked at his weapon. Shit, this was going fast as all Hell. The gang was one thing, now this? And the rifle was. . . it was weird, reassuring. It was just something he knew. He was so used to violent encounters. Would it be the same, like always?

“Anon.”

“Hmm?”

Angel leaned over. “C’mere.”

He pressed his soft, warm lips against Thief’s own, and they shared a brief, but intimate kiss. They didn’t say more, because they didn’t need to right now.

The lights changed and the cars moved. Thief followed. To where he wasn’t sure. No turning back now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good grief, that was a delay, eh? Well back to the ol' grind. Missed writing about the boys.


	17. And So It Does

**And So It Does**

This was the spider’s nest now, was it?

Despite the grumbling protests from Angel, Thief aired on the side of caution and maintained a safe distance as he tailed the vehicle that left the bank's vicinity. Said vehicle looked like a classic right out of the 20’s, though patterned with a gold trim and sporting some accessories indicating its owner was smarter than your average demon. He assumed it was a Pentious brand – though Thief wouldn’t bet on it until he was one hundred percent. Too much was up in the air tonight, like the thing the Sinaloa were hauling around and what Pentious even wanted with. He wanted to have clarity on at least _one_ detail.

His husband, on the other four hands, was eager to cap the fucking thing right off the road and yank out the driver along with whoever else was in the vehicle. He was furious and impatient, itchy on the trigger fingers. Now, some part of that was admittedly very attractive. A violent Angel _did_ things to Thief. But, way too much was on the line to play it so risky. Or at least, riskier than usual.

All questions though, about whether or not the car actually belonged to Arackniss, came to a halt once it arrived at an the entrance of a gated, elaborate manor. The exterior was coated in black, foreign stone with that ever-familiar gold Victorian trim characteristic of the serpent. It was enormous, by most standards, far bigger than the Hotel. Thief assumed this was Pentious’ estate. He also assumed it was just _one_ of them, because frankly, it looked a little small for him. Only mattered that Arackniss was going there.

He discovered this, parking the _Boss_ a few blocks away from the building’s exterior. He didn’t rightly believe the driver wasn’t aware of the 429. Not the Boss, not this roaring monster. No, if it _was_ Arackniss – most assuredly it was – he was confident in his escape, or at least, not worried about being tailed by Angel and Thief’s motorized beast. Guess he felt pretty safe with his serpentine sugar daddy.

Thief keyed the ignition off as fat drops of rain splattered against the car exterior. Things were picking up. He remained quiet, as did Angel, though the spider _glared_ at the building. Thief could _feel_ his husband’s roiling fury, the anger seeping out of his soul and into his own. He also felt a lot of other things, like sadness, fear, anxiety, and uncertainty.

“He thinks he can fuckin’ hide,” said Angel, hissing through teeth, voice low. “He can just dick da’fuck around!”

He clenched his gloved fists, ripping out of his seatbelt. “Don’tfuckin’thinkso. . .”

Thief took that as a sign to get out.

In a moment, they neared the estate, rain bearing down on them. This was an all too familiar sight, rushing down on one of Arackniss’ hideouts. In the distance, the vehicle parked and a single figure exited before nearing the manor door. The silhouette was a bit small, rough, and gangly.

Thief saw it many times. Angel had seen it more.

“ALESSANDRO!” Angel screamed, his voice cracking through the night like a gunshot. “YOUMOTHERFUCKER!”

The figure paused, glanced back, saying nothing. Then, without any fright or fear in its motions, shifted and went inside, leaving the pair in the rain.

Thief snorted. “Dick.”

Angel gawked like he’d been slapped and hit with a flurry of slurs. He stared in utter disbelief. “He. . . he _just fuckin’ ignored me. . .”_

The spider looked at Thief, almost helpless. Thief shrugged, tapping into his bound soul, summoning a _Mossberg_ shotgun. “Guess we should knock.”

“Hah. H-hah. I’m. I’m _gonna kill em’._ M’gonna actually fuckin’ kill him,” Angel chuckled, summoning a Thompson, shaking his head.

Thief didn’t know how serious he was, but he’d follow him no matter what.

So, they two marched over the street and beyond the gates. This fact stuck out, and Thief immediately did not like it. There was no security, no laser zapping them into ashy bits, no Pentious appearing in a puff of smoke. Either this was a trap or the inhabitants were so secure in themselves, they didn’t give a shit who came a’knockin. Or, perhaps Pentious was indifferent _enough_ to Angel and Thief he didn’t attack them on the spot.

He’d find out soon, because Angel lunged towards the elaborate dual doors, gold tooth glinting with absolute, uninhibited rage.

“OPEN THIS FUCKIN’ DOOR!” he yelled, slamming a fist against it. “ALESSANDRO! YOU LITTLE SHIT! YOU FUCKIN’ RUNT OPEN IT!”

Angel, impatient, summoned an explosive, shaking his fist. “I’ll fuckin’ BLOW THIS SHIT DOWN! I’LL SET YOU’ZE ON FIRE IN THERE!”

A part of Thief wondered if he should calm his husband down, but the other decided this was the fallout that needed to happen. Granted, he wouldn’t let Angel come to any harm. Yet, something was so. . . calm right now, despite Angel’s acid words.

A moment went by, and the door clicked. Angel had hammered his leather boot into it a few times before stopping, realizing it was slowly parting. Warm air rasped from the interior, until enough space was allowed for the duo to enter. Apparently it was held by a mechanism in true Pentious fashion.

If there was even a sliver of doubt this was where Pentious lived – or visited – that was cast aside once Thief and Angel got a view of its wide foyer. Lots of snake inspired iconography, lots of gold and mechanical inlay, lots of humming power and lines of pink energy travelling through the walls. Now, Thief had to hope it wasn’t also an elaborate death trap.

“WHERE THE FUCK ARE YA’!?” bellowed Angel, swinging his eyes around, uninterested, keeping his submachinegun brandished.

Creeping out from an otherwise calm room was a voice. Disciplined but cold. Young yet aged.

“Keep your fucking voice down.”

There, on a lavish cushioned seat, coat hung over with hat placed on a rack, sitting in quite dignified fashion, was Arackniss. Or, Alessandro. Anthony’s brother.

Angel snared his eyes on the figure. Arackniss didn’t even look at either of them before taking a sip of coffee. Or tea? “He’s working.”

Angel opened his mouth, perhaps to unleash the typhoon of swears, insults, and anger he’d pent up for so long. But, he was cut off as another voice broke through the tension, familiar and lingering with a hiss.

“I _was.”_

Thief glanced to see one Sir Pentious – hatless – peer down at the three with a vaguely irritated expression. Again, calm. Indeed, neither Arackniss or Pentious seemed to regard Angel and his husband as a threat. That worked just fine for Thief, less targets the better.

Arackniss saw the snake and dawned a sad expression. “Oh, Pen, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to bother you.”

Pentious snorted. “Ruckus and ruffians in my home, oh, bothered isn’t the word. But I see. . . _you’re empty handed?”_

Arackniss looked away and cleared his throat. “Things went south for some reason.”

He glared at Thief and Angel. “I bet it was _these_ fucking two.”

Angel, practically glowing with rage, aimed his weapon straight at his brother’s head. “I’m ‘bout to turn ya’ head into a fuckin’ soup.”

“Bwahah,” jeered Pentious who began to slither down his snake-special steps. “You’ll die before you _blink.”_

Angel twirled and sneered. “Oh, you wanna’ start, double dick!? I’ll make Cherri look like fuckin’ preschool when I’m done with you!”

Arackniss notably twitched. “Don’t you threaten him.”

Thief couldn’t help it. “Oh yeah? Why not, ‘Racky? You sweet on the snake? Never took you for a prick pumper. Wasn’t that _beneath_ you?”

Pentious rattled. “You come into this estate and insult him? I think I’ll just turn you both into chum and feed you to the robot sharks!”

Alessandro was quiet for a moment, but he raised a hand. “No. No. Pen. I did this. I wanted this. They’re here because I let them in.”

“I heard this the first time.”

Arackniss stared at Angel. “I want to talk to my brother.”

Angel glared back. The heat coming from him was palpable. His wet fluff intermixed with perfume created a strange, magnetic scent, and it was odd for Thief to see Angel this way. This kind of anger was different. It had a. . . mourning to it. An age, a history. Enough that he lowered his gun.

Pentious blinked, slithering to the foyer, right past Angel and Thief, ignoring them. Then, he came to the spider, frowning. “I’m not letting him hurt you.”

Arackniss snorted. “Too late.”

“ _You know what I mean!”_

“He won’t.”

Thief rubbed his head. This was. . . not a sight he ever thought he’d witness. He placed his non-prosthetic hand on Angel’s shoulder, squeezing. “Hon. . . are you okay?”

Angel’s expression hardened. “Anon.”

Arackniss cleared his throat. “Penny.”

And they said: “Let me take care of this.”

The voices unionized in a strange, harsh way, where both respective partners blinked, understanding.

Thief nodded. This is what they were here for, unusual circumstances aside. “Okay.”

Pentious straightened, crossing his arms. In a time previous he’d never do something so foolish, especially not leave the strumpet alone in _his_ estate, but things were different now. Pentious switched his eyes to Thief. “Why don’t we get some tea.”

Thief frowned. “Coffee.

“Ugh.”

Thief ignored this and continued to speak to Angel. “I won’t be far.”

The spider glanced at the shadowy man, granted a small smile, and kissed Thief on the cheek. “I’ll be fine.”

A nod. “I know ya’ will.”

Thief kept his Mossberg close but followed the serpent Overlord, exiting the quarters, hoping that when he saw Angel again it wasn’t a matter of violence and fire.

-*-

Arackniss tapped his fingers on the armrest, gesturing to an opposite seat, a silent request for his brother.

“No thanks,” said Angel with an ugly tone, crossing his arms. “I like standin’, can see how fuckin’ short you’ze always been.”

The black spider looked to the side, rolling his small red eyes. “Still a little brat as always.”

“Yeah?” Angel hissed, standing in front of Arackniss. He ignored his first insult, slamming down in the opposite seat. _“At least I’m honest ‘bout what I am.”_

Arackniss clicked his tongue. “Ah, yes, right, what was that again? The town pump? Drug addict? Embarrassment? Alcoholic?”

Angel spat. “Yeah, dat’s right you little shit.”

Angel gestured around him. “Least I got paid fer’ it, and what, you takin’ two up the ass now fer free? What kinda’ desperate little act is dis?”

Arackniss wanted to speak, but Angel cut him off.

“No, _Alessandro,_ spit it out, cause I’m dyin’ t’know. How fuckin’ bad is it you thought slurpin’ cock was better than livin in a box on th’street? How much lyin’ you’ze done to keep up your little bullshit wonderland of luxury, foolin’ that fuckin’ twizzler? God, fuck, you must throat it good, cause why else would he keep a cumrag around, yeah?”

Arackniss’ face hardened.

Angel waved his hands in front of him. “Tell me, _tell me._ Cause, if dat ain’t the case, if you’ze serious about this, _if you’ve been desperate for dick allllll theeeeese years,_ then you are the **biggest piece of shit I’ve ever known.”**

The smaller spider hissed. “You don’t know the first thing about me.”

“YOU’ZE GODDAMN RIGHT I DON’T!” Angel shot back.

“Oh, I thought it was just the same _bullshit,_ little _Al,”_ he continued. “You and dem suited yucks fuckin’ hangin’ a mary cause ya’ didn’t like him. Thought that was you in a nutshell, just another one of dem’ daddy dick suckers tryin’ to get pop’s approval, so you’d do _whatever it took.”_

Silence.

“You know what they did, Alessandro?” Angel said, wearing a fractured smile, wiping his eyes. “To guys like me? Do I need to tell ya’? Hah, naw. Cause ya’ already _knew,_ didn’t ya?”

“Of course I did,” Arackniss said, voice bitter.

Angel’s fury rose. “Oh, _okay, so,_ now, _now,_ when it’s convenient for ya’, NOW, ya’ wanna be gay? Or are you’ze just tryin’ it out, is dat it? Can you pretend Penny’s girly just enough so you don’t have to imagine pops callin’ you’ze a faggot? How NICE for you!”

Angel’s frame was quivering, his body so overtaken with fury.

Arackniss glanced down. “Say what you will,” he said, voice low, “but I do love Pentious.”

His brother snarled. “God. I hate you. I hate you so much.”

Arackniss closed his eyes, sighing. “So, it’s more the same then.”

“NO, IT ISN’T,” Angel struck back. “Ya’ don’t get to just DO that shit, fucker! You don’t get to do yer usual fuckin’ routine and that’s it! Ya’ don’t get to feel a little bad and things is all fuckin’ hooch n’smiles!”

Arackniss leaned back in his seat, facing Angel. “So, what then? Gonna’ kill me? Get shadowy twat to threaten me? What else is new, _Anthony_?”

Angel jammed his hands into his fluff head, clenching the silky strands in frustration. “You ain’t even LISTENING!”

“Of course I am,” Arackniss challenged. “Of course I fucking _am._ But what am I even going to say?”

He forced a sad chuckle. “You want that long, drawn out apology? Or some kind of explanation? It won’t change things, or what I’ve done, or been. . . in proximity to. I can’t clean that off.”

“You ain’t the victim,” barked Angel. “Don’t even try dat’ shit.”

“I know that!”

He leaned back. “I _know that._ And I don’t want to be. If I have to be a hypocrite for the rest of my damned life, so be it.”

“So BE IT!?” Angel coughed. “Well ain’t that so peachy’n nice! Ya’ get yer little fairytale endin’ just cause you could be a hypocrite! Hawh! Amazin’!”

Arackniss shook his head.

“Angel. . . Anthony. Anthony, nothing I can say is gonna’ make this okay or work, I know that. I’ve known it since I dated Pentious. I won’t pretend to understand how you feel.”

Angel snorted. “Think m’self clear.”

The smaller spider crossed his arms. “You can hate me then. You’re owed that. But will you at least let me explain? Just a little?”

Angel howled with laughs. “Oh you’ze bet, because I just wanna’ hear dis shit. I really do.”

In a stoic, flat voice, one burdened by decades of torment, Arackniss spoke.

“Father was terrifying.”

And, for at least a moment, Angel’s anger subsided. Briefly.

“I’m not. . . using him to excuse myself, or what I’ve been a part of. But he was, Anthony. I know what he did, both to his enemies and to people like. . .”

He wanted to say “us,” but decided against it. “People like you. And, yes, I was. . . a ‘mary,’ how you put it. So, seeing what happened I. . . I was scared. I wasn’t strong or brave enough to stand against him. The kind of influence he had, I don’t know. I figured I’d spend my days looking over my shoulder if ever I got found out or somehow betrayed our family. Or, I stupidly thought, if I get in power, maybe I could . . do good somewhere.”

He gestured around him with a finger. “That didn’t pan out.”

“You do that for so long and you work in the business for so many years, you give up. I could’ve done more, I should’ve been at your side. But father. . . Henry. . . he was. . . _him_. No one was safe. Not even our mother.”

“I won’t waste your time,” Arackniss went on. “Because that’s all. I was always afraid. I sometimes still am. It’s not the answer you want to hear, but it is.”

He looked at his brother in the eyes. “You can do what you need to. Scream at me, I deserve it. But that’s all there is. That’s how it goes.”

Angel growled, looking at the floor, flexing his fingers. Every word settled into him, truthful and precise. Despite how infuriated Angel was, it was – loathe he was to admit to himself – hard to blame his smaller brother. Henry was a monster, overseer of a small criminal empire that built itself on blood money. No one was safe from him. Fucker even attacked Angel at his own goddamn Honeymoon!

“I hate ya’ so goddamn much. I wanna’ punch yer stupid, dumb face. I want ya’ t’understand all the shit and fear I went through. Ya’ got to be all cozy up with pops while people like me was gettin’ our nuts crushed in, or worse. I hate you. I _want_ t’keep hatin’ you.”

He wiped his eyes. “But yer still my stupid, dumb, fucking idiot brother.”

He sniffed, glaring at Arackniss. “Dat’s all you get, you shit. Dat’s all I’m givin’ you. You get to call me brother. That’s. Fucking. It.”

Arackniss said nothing.

“But I ain’t doin’ it fer you, get it!? It’s not fer you. It’s for my kid. Fer my friends. My _husband._ I’m gonna’ be better, for them.”

Arackniss managed a smile. “You don’t even have to give me that, Anthony.”

“Shut the fuck up and take it,” sniffed Angel, wiping his eyes. “Cause. . . cause that’s the worst part, you asshole.”

He sighed out. “Worst part is of course Henry _was_ fuckin’ scary. And I wanna’ blame you so bad, so much, but I can’t. I can’t blame you fer bein scared.”

“But. . .” he went on, voice lowering to a dark, angry grumble. “I can't fer’ everythin’ else. N’you gotta’ live with that shit.”

“I already do.” said Arackniss, tone quiet. The rain picked up outside, patting the window exteriors while the thrum and rumble of the city clashed against drums of thunder.

“You don’t have to believe it, Angel, but I’ve always been consumed by grief and guilt. I’ve always been alone with it. I guess. . . we still have that in common.”

Angel sniffed again, pulling out a cloth from his jacket pocket, wiping his face. “You don’t have _any_ idea!”

“I’m not interested in comparing struggles, Anthony,” challenged Arackniss. “But I was trapped too. In a different way. But trapped.”

“So why didn’t you’ze ever say nothin’, huh!? You sure as shit harassed Anon over that bullshit! Sent that buggy looney right at my goddamn home too!”

Arackniss shook his head. “I told you this. I was the only thing holding up our family and that’s all I had.”

He looked to the side, where Pentious and Thief had left. “Now I have him.”

Arackniss frowned, eyes wandering over the walls, smiling at the lavish interior. “And. . . that’s all I’ll need.”

Angel’s tone went flat. “Yer’n unbelievable piece of shit.”

“Yeah. I know.”

Angel crossed his arms, looking down, his fury initially expelled. He realized he could continue spinning his wheels. He’d scream until his white fluff went blue. Or, he could start mauling Arackniss but. . . he didn’t want to. A lot of people in this city deserved it, but, even still, Anthony couldn’t do it to Alessandro.

A swollen, suffocating silence filled the room, the worst kind of afterglow. Words were searched for, so many that needed to be said, but couldn’t find their way. After a long, long while though, for what felt an eternity, Arackniss spoke.

“What was that thing mom did?”

Angel blinked, looking up. Arackniss, in the meantime, pondered fondly.

“We had a bad fight once over a ball when we were kids, arguing who it belonged to. Mom made us stop, then made soup, and. . . she played a song, didn’t she?”

Angel’s mind wandered far back to the dreary, fuzzy recollection of his mortal memories as a child. And he could see it, he and his whiny brother, squabbling over a toy.

“Yeah,” Angel croaked.

“I’ve been trying to remember it.”

A song?

. . .Angel knew.

“Winter claims the river,” Angel said at once.

Arackniss’ features softened. “Oh? Yes, yes I think that was it.”

He rubbed his chin. “And. . . and then. . . spring. . .”

Angel leaned back in his chair. “Spring days gone, we wi-ther,” he said, donning a melodious tone.

Arackniss managed a small smile. The memory clicked.

“Now. . .”

“We will wait. . .”

“My dear.”

“For the days, until. . .”

“We hear.”

“The songs.”

“We would sing!”

Arackniss wore a happy expression. “Yeah. Yes. That was it. That was it. I couldn’t remember. She played it for us.”

Angel wasn’t smiling, but he eased, features softening. “Soup was good.”

Arackniss raised a hand. “That, at least, I _could_ remember. I always have a little made.”

Thunder.

“It’s late. Did you eat?”

Arackniss knew Angel wouldn’t suddenly start bawling with tears of joy, or that he’d somehow repaired _anything._ But if there was just. . . one thing they could enjoy, one thing they could have together, it was this.

“Nah.”

Then he shrugged. “Guess I could though.”

-*-

Anon knocked back the hard-black coffee, which carried a bitter yet aromatic flavor. Blueberry, maybe. The Egg Boy that handed the cup wobbled off, joining its entourage of doddling brethren.

He didn’t know what was going on with Angel and his brother, but considering there wasn’t a series of gunshots and explosions, he was optimistic. Had to let the fire burn and let his spider sort it out. Nothing he could do now but wait.

And ask questions.

“You’ll find that’s better than the hoggish swill enjoyed by the common raff,” snarked Pentious, coiling into a seat.

This was. . . odd. Pentious was casual, in a robe, hood lowered, almost like hair. His demeanor lacked the flamboyant posh of his Overlord persona. Theatrics and style on the outside, but not here.

“Thanks,” said Thief, short. “As long as it keeps me awake.”

“I believe in manners,” said Pentious again, almost at once, “but also in being _direct.”_

Thief sat opposite of Pentious. “I like that.”

“You’ve been a cantankerous, troublesome pustule since you got your clumsy mitts on my brilliant tech,” hissed Pentious. “So, my dear Ally coming home empty handed is no doubt because of _you.”_

Well, one question answered, Pentious _did_ want something. “Guilty as charged.”

“Bah.”

Thief didn’t sense danger. However, he pulled a summoned grenade from his jacket and set it on the table, a hand over it. Pentious looked at it, quirking a brow, then back to Anon.

The shadow, sensing accusation and _perhaps_ a threat, wanted to make his intent clear. “Insurance. You understand.”

Pentious rolled his eyes. “Put that nonsense away. If I wanted you dead, you’d have died ten blocks away from the road. You’re here because my sweet spider has business to settle.”

Thief chuckled. “Gross. Does that make us in-laws?”

“Enough of your prattle,” leaned Pentious, hissing. “What were you doing interfering in my business?”

Thief’s eye narrowed. “I have a better question: what _the fuck are you doing messing with the Sinaloa?”_

Pentious frame rattled with laughter, his head wobbling with cackles. “I’ve been around longer than half the muddy rabble of the silly mortal world. What does it _matter?”_

Okay, so, Pentious knew, or he didn’t care. Both were terrible outcomes.

“You knew it was their shit, then, their turf?”

Pentious rested his cheek on fist. “Ohhh, are we taking up with them, is that why?”

Dense lunatic. “No, you goddamn maniac! You about stuck your double cocks into a hornet’s nest and got yourself a war you couldn’t end.”

A snort. “I’ve fought worse for far longer.”

“Has Arackniss?”

“Don’t bring him into this.”

Thief clenched his teeth. “He’d be ‘into this’ whether you wanted it or not. AND me, AND Angel, and everyone you’ve been in contact with.”

“ _And?”_

Ugh. Thief was too tired for this back and forth. It was clear Pentious wasn’t concerned, like he figured. Granted, Pentious _could_ defend himself, had all the resources and tech to do so, along with an arsenal that matched the Sinaloa, but that wasn’t the point.

“You pretend to care about Angel’s brother.”

A frown. “If you insult my honor in my own home again, I’ll make sure they don’t even recognize your body.”

Thief snarked with a bitter chuckle.

“Oh yeah? And you wouldn’t recognize _him_ either.”

Pentious straightened, hands on table. “What did you say!? Are you threatening him?”

“No. _You_ are. They will _never_ stop, you understand? The gang you almost stole from. They will make it hurt until you back the fuck off, because that’s what the cartel does.”

Thief gestured towards the room Alessandro and Anthony were in. “Here’s a thought: your boy toy, turned into a goddamn meat soup. Because he got stuffed in a barrel and they drowned him in acid. Alive, by the way fucking way. Dying because his lungs are fuckin’ melting, until he’s a puddle. Imagine that spilled on your goddamn front lawn, as a warning.”

Thief shook his head. “Yeah, all right, maybe they can’t touch you. But him? Eventually. _Eventually._ An eternity having to be careful. And while _that_ shit’s happening, they go after everyone Arackniss knows, _including Angel.”_

Pentious stared.

Thief was resolute. “I will see this city on fire before Angel gets hurt. I’m _not_ letting it happen.”

Now the snake growled. “Is that _so?”_

Thief ignored this. “What was so important you almost called down a literal shitstorm on yourself?”

He knew Pentious wasn’t intimidated, so threats meant little. But Arackniss? That was different.

Said growl became a chuckle. “Oh, oh, little tiny Anon, ye of such puny knowledge. To tell you would waste my time, because it would mean nothing to you, you wouldn’t understand.”

“Fucking try me.”

Pentious grinned, one that carried wicked, devilish confidence. So much that telling someone of his intentions was scarcely a threat to him.

“Schematics. To a weapon. A weapon only a genius like myself can build.”

His eyes widened, the prospect of power overtaking him. _“Fully autonomous Exterminators.”_

Thief. . . had to process that. Autonomous? Were they not already? Unless. . . these were _machines._ And if they were machines, they could be built. An army of them at the call of one master with the power to permanently kill anything that challenged them.

“. . .the Sinaloa have this shit?”

Pentious snorted. “Those lowly fools? They have no idea what to do with it. No one does, no one but I. And you saw fit to throw a wrench in my affairs.”

Thief was really, _really_ glad he interfered now. “You can’t be serious with this.”

“ _Everyone_ will know the name of Sir Pentious, AND his beloved Arackniss.”

Why worry about anything with that level of weaponry and power? Pentious could truly unleash an armada of horrors if he ever got a hold of the schematic, wherever it was now. He was patient. He could wait. He’d waited for a near century for his empire to grow. He didn’t care that he was telling Thief his grand scheme, because interlopers meant so little to him.

“No one will let you do something like this, you know that right?”

“ _Who_ will stop me?”

Thief grunted. “You don’t care about your boyfriend?”

“Bwahaha, I will build my love a throne of skulls made from our enemies. Our foes will tremble and kneel. When I have what I need, no one will stop us.”

“What if you never get it? What if someone else does?”

Again, Pentious grinned, understanding the implication. “Like you said, Anon, who has the power to fight the Sinaloa and _survive?”_

The shadow couldn’t answer, forcing a small bubble of silence to take the room.

He gestured at Thief’s mug. “More coffee?”

Ugh. Shit and fuck. What an absolute headache. The only “ace” in this situation was the whereabouts of the schematic, or rather, its unknown location. And no doubt, the Sinaloa had likely doubled their protection for such precious cargo. Pentious couldn’t suddenly make a move, not yet at least. But it meant that, one day, he would, and that was. . . a problem. A problem Thief didn’t have the capacity to think about right now.

Thief shook his head. “No.”

After a while, he added: “Why Arackniss?”

“Hmm?” said Pentious, returning to his seat, maniacal overlord energy receding.

“You’re a couple. Never took you for small runty guys.”

“My beloved is not _runty._ I’ve explored every delicious inch of his body, and he is a temple of lithe strength.”

Thief scratched his chin absentmindedly. “So, you’ve sucked his dick.”

“Excuse you!?”

Thief shrugged. “What? You said ‘every inch.’ I’m just asking.”

“None of your goddamn business.”

Thief cracked a smirk. “You and I are in-laws now, I guess. Besides, you’re with a dude, that’s how it is. What, you embarrassed? I’ve sucked Angel’s cock plenty of times.”

Pentious made a face, forcing an expression of disgust, but a hot flush took his cheeks. “You. . . that is. . . I didn’t. . .”

A smirk became a grin. “. . .wait. _Wait._ You haven’t.”

“I SO HAVE!”

Thief raised his hands. “Hey, hey, I get it, that’s fine. New couples are still a little nervous. What’s the hot and heavy? Hand holding and kissing? You guys will get there.”

A snarl. “Dare you imply I don’t love Arackniss in every possible way!?”

“I mean. What’s his jizz taste like?”

“You FOUL animal.”

To have disarmed the snake so readily was infinitely amusing to Thief. He ignored Penny’s rebuke. “Angel is kinda’ sweet. He says he works on that though, like, eats a lot of fruit.”

“ _Stop.”_

Thief leaned. “I can give you some pointers if you’re afraid or whatever.”

“I am _not_ afraid because I’ve. . . already. . . bah!”

Pentious looked away, taking an angry sip of some set tea while the Egg Boys made jeering sounds.

“Penny, there is nothing better than making your man fucking cry out in bliss after you’ve sucked him off.”

“I. . .”

“It’s a show of love. It’s how you can make them feel important and wanted and needed.”

Pentious frowned. “I’m not some grade school _boy,_ oaf.”

Having shifted from a conversation about a potential doomsday armada to blowing your boyfriend (or husband) was so. . . on brand right now. As such, a pregnant pause filled the air save for the tap of rain and electric hum of Pentious’ estate.

The serpent cleared his throat, looking away at a particularly interesting thing on the wall. “So how do _you_ do it.”

The tone and nature of the query was obvious. Thief grinned inwardly, fighting a laugh. “Don’t use your teeth.”

Pentious huffed. “Yes, that’s obvious.”

“Take your time.”

A grumble. “I _know_ that.”

“Try carefully squeezing his n-”

Pentious straightened. “Pardon me. The kettle is, uh, er. . .”

And he slithered away. As he did, Thief gave him a once over, wondering what Arackniss saw in the snake, and the other way around. He guessed, without the robe, he was pretty slender? Well, whatever, he was married to a demonic spider, so he wasn’t judging.

In the relative quiet, Thief noted things were still. . . peaceful? No gunshot fires, no screams, no sudden bursts of multicolored fire. Well that. . . was good?

He got his answer a few moments later, as the slender frame of his husband emerged. Thief stood, noting the weary, crestfallen expression Angel wore.

The spider looked at the shadow, frowned, and gestured. “Let’s go home.”

-*-

The rain patterned the sky and blitz of Pentagram City, rumbling with thunder. Angel marched beyond the sidewalk, Thief next to him, the spider hugging his frame with all arms.

As they neared the car, Thief chanced a question. “Everything work out?”

“Nope.”

Well. Shit. “I’m sorry baby.”

They arrived at the car, the storm falling on them both. Angel shuddered, feeling a tiny tremor of panic from the water, jumping in the car as fast as he could. Thief joined him in the driver’s seat. He didn’t start it at once.

Angel dried himself off, huffed, and stared out the window. “I hate him.”

Then, he looked at Thief. “. . .but. . . I don’t wanna’ kill em’. So. Guess dat’s something.”

Thief managed a timid smile. “It’s a start.”

Another pause. Then: “. . .so, what about dat gang shit you’ze was all fucked over for?”

Thief gave him “the look.”

Angel groaned. “Ugh.”

“Yeah.”

The spider sighed. “Anon. Take me home.”

The ignition switched on. “You got it. I’ll call Mynerva.”

The engine revved. The car pulled back into the road, heading towards the decrepit but cozy home of Angel and Thief.

From a taller building, through a distant window, a small spider watched them go before a slender snake approached him from behind, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. They went to bed together.

-*-

Mynerva knocked down her last drink for the night, frowning. So much for security! It dawned on the Hellhound she hadn’t really. . . done anything since working for her shadowy boss. Oh well, more money for her.

Too bad, though, the drink couldn’t stifle the foul taste in her mouth.

On the bar, she thumbed through her Hellphone, reading social media updates. A trending picture appeared.

One Vox grinned at the audience, gesturing to the still frame a figure behind him. A weak, but very much alive Valentino.

A caption read: HE’S WALKING AGAIN

She shivered, downing another shot. Guess a roach can't stay dead.


	18. It Just Is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel and Thief Anon process things at home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing too complicated here, just wanted a short, saccharine chapter in the midst of real-life stuff.

**It Just Is**

You can say a lot in the quiet.

Emotional turmoil had a way of “muting” things once all was said and done. Not to suggest Angel wasn’t his typical chatty self, but in the same sense, there were pockets of time where he said little at all. He’d affix his eyes to one object for a while, pensive. Thief didn’t blame him, not after what happened. Confronting his brother and hitting so many emotional notes took its toll. It was amazing how exhausting anger and sadness could be, and it drained Angel, certainly.

Thief was admittedly fatigued too. Perhaps not physically, more just fizzled out, like a used match. There was always something, huh? Always one hurdle right after the next? It really _was_ Hell, then, because the “blissful ending” never really came. If it wasn’t the Better Half, it was Valentino. If it wasn’t Valentino, it was Angel’s brother trying to pick fights with gangs. All Hell had to be was an exaggerated imitation of the real world, it seemed.

So, on that note, Thief was really in a “stay at home mode,” and his husband was more the same. They had, for the past few days, shared a mutual – if not sluggish – enjoyment of the other’s company around the home. Not much going out, not even any discussion about what occurred. It was clear they wanted to digest events, and they didn’t need a full-on discourse about _why._

Hell, Angel was sparse on social media too. Sometimes he took artsy snaps of Nuggets here and there or the classic “filtered picture of fancy coffee,” but little else. There was simply too much mental work to sort through. Regardless of his “discussion” with Alessandro, that was a new reality he had to accept. Whether their relationship would improve was besides the point: Alessandro was gay – or bi, at least – and he had a significant, and said significant was motherfucking Pentious.

Did that really mean the stupid snake overlord would be an in law? Would there be a day where Pentious – in foolish fashion – announced to the underworld he was wrapping coil around Arackniss? Fuckin shit, what time to be “alive.”

Angel didn’t say it, but it worried how this all impacted Anon, too. Angel was trying to build something here with his man, and all this extra family shit was just the kind of dynamite to blow that to pieces. They worked hard for this. _Thief_ worked hard for this. Yeah, sure, Thief would contest that it didn’t matter and he was right there to support the spider, no matter what, but still. Some aspect of it felt vaguely selfish. Angel didn’t really know, he hadn’t been locked down with a guy like this for so long in. . . he didn’t remember.

Yeah, that didn’t help, either. Every day Angel woke up he sorta’ winged it. Yes, he loved Anon, loved him dearly. And yes, he wanted to be with him. But the arrangement of all that was. . . like, what? How? How did one go about being a strong, loving partner? Or, did that come naturally? It _kinda_ did. Talking was easy, and it was like being around your best pal and you never wanted it to stop. But did you also do things together all the time? Nice things? Was it enough to just _be_ with someone? Yes, and no, but no and yes?

He asked Vaggie about love once, to which she said: “Love doesn’t come with stipulations. It just is.”

Well, thanks snatch, that didn’t explain a whole lot.

Maybe. . . maybe, Angel thought to himself, he was getting egged up about it because of his fucking brother. He asserted he wasn’t competing. He had _nothing_ to prove, to anyone. The things he did and the places he went with Anon, shit was worth a page in a shitty romance novel, at the very least. Oh sure, fucking whatever, Angel was a drug-addled prostitute with a knack for violence and his Anon was an ego-driven criminal with a casual disregard for everything _except_ the spider. But they couldn’t be pried apart, they were there for the other.

So, he had _nothing_ to prove, especially not to Alessandro! Gugh, and yet it felt that way, sometimes. Probably why he avoided getting back into it. Angel just wanted some goddamn peace. He wanted to stay inside, stuff his face with pizza, pet Nuggets, and spend time with Thief, that was it.

Maybe a little more too.

In their small living room, they slumped together on the couch. Angel leaned into Thief’s frame while the flicker of an old TV washed the surroundings in pale light. Nugsy was asleep and the roaches were probably stoned out of their mind. Mynerva wasn’t about (bad look for security). Sometimes, idle conversational pieces emerged.

“Heh, Cherri sent me a thing, she’z makin’ jack-o-bombs,” Angel might say.

“She’s what now?”

“Uh, like pumpkin’ lookin’ exploding things.”

Thief was obviously not _completely_ engaged, but he liked indulging. “The hell? She actually got real pumpkins?”

“Haha, if ya’ think _the’ze_ is normal,” Angel said, showing his Hellphone screen, a picture of some _very_ deformed demonic vegetables appearing on it.

They’d laugh then go quiet again. The ebb and flow of peaceful company was all they needed right now.

And then. . .

Maybe it was all the emotional stress or proximity to his man. Maybe it was the strong aroma of cheap cigarettes and cologne mixed together. Maybe Angel was thinking a lot, and when he did, lots of it turned to people he cared about. And maybe the spider was a _little_ horny. A little.

Language wasn’t necessary, not always, because of how well the two knew the other. Angel had his ways, how he exposed his right shoulder a little. He’d always pull at his shirt. Thief might see it at first, might not, but it was a clear indicator. The spider would press forward, silently let a hand roll across Thief’s leg. Not necessarily in a sexual matter, but in a “I’m here, I’m touching, is this okay?”

Closer and closer, Angel might chance. He’d playfully pushing his visage into Thief’s neck. How his husband responded told him a lot. Was Anon in the mood? Angel could tell based on the way his body shifted. When Thief squeezed back with his hand (usually with his prosthetic although he was exceedingly careful about it), yeah, that was a sign “something” was in the air.

The kiss elevated, their lips pressed together once. Again, no words needed. Thief was certainly curious as to why Angel was getting so het up, but, he wasn’t _questioning._

Yeah. They were in the mood. Though, differently so this time. It wasn’t raunchy, hot, or aggressive. It was slow, steady, a slow burn. A fading candle, not so much a burning wildfire.

When their kiss broke, they shared a look. _That_ look.

“Couch is pretty small,” Thief would say, very quiet.

“Mmm,” Angel intoned, wrapped around the shadow. “Ugh. Bed’s all the way upstairs though.”

“What, am I carrying you?”

“You gonna?”

Not much debate there. It was fortunate Angel maintained a light form, doubly so since Thief had gotten stronger over time. Occupational benefit, suffice to say.

The bedroom was their haven, where even Hell could not intrude. And right now, it was a place of healing. Things now were gentle. Clothes came off in a ritual but steady fashion. No rush, no hurry. In fact, even when stripped off they returned to more the usual. Angel pushed Thief back into the bed and lie atop him. Their lips pressed together and the language of their bodies did all the speaking.

Save for. . .

“Hang on,” Angel paused, pushing up. He tapped at Anon’s prosthetic. “Take dat off.”

There was a hesitant pause. “. . . are you sure?”

“Yep. I just want you right now.”

Normally, Thief didn’t like departing with the Saint’s Arm, embarrassingly enough. The idea he wasn’t always “whole” bothered him, even now. And yet. . . as much as it was him, it _wasn’t._ The fact that Angel, beautiful thing he was, desired the “shattered plate,” well, made a man feel weak in the knees, make a man want to propose all over again.

Everything else was the gentle orchestra of their coupling. They spoke through touches and soft actions. How Anon’s hand trailed on the small of Angel’s back, his lower right side, knowing where the spider might be sensitive. Or how he’d stroke lower and touch his thighs, hinting at squeezes, where Angel responded neck nibbles. Where Angel might caress and stroke with free hands while his others traced and touch over the shadowy frame, though keeping their lips pressed.

Where a quick spike of physical tingles would incur a gasp or low, approving moan, a touch in the right spot also yielded a pleased chuckle. These were the gifts they could give each other, the nuances only _they_ could know.

When Angel did his “job,” worked as some easy street candy, it was all show, theatrics. The same routine since most johns wanted the same thing. Meaningless work, passionless. But _this?_ This was, as far as the spider was concerned, the real him. In this bed he was honest with only one person, and _only_ did things and sounded ways for one person.

They shifted, Angel slinking to all fours where his chest fluff pancaked into the sheets. His man mounted him but remained wonderfully close, never too far. Even when Thief pushed into his spider, burying himself into Angel’s hole, there was little ferocity to it. Steady, slow. Each swing of hip sand thrust of body was a moment dragged through every possible second, because that’s all they really wanted. To make it last as long as they conceivably could.

Sure, maybe Thief only had one arm to swing around Angel’s slender tummy, but it was enough. Angel had hands to spare, anyway.

After everything, it’s what Angel wanted to give back to his Anon. He liked getting off like everyone else, he liked it when Anon gave his shaft attention, along with the rest of him. But he _also_ liked knowing he could make Anon feel good, and him in particular. It was something he willingly gave, something special. This was granted to no other partner, because said “partners” were often within the influence of money or drugs or alcohol. Or manipulation. Not this though.

Once that hot surge erupted, once Angel felt a wave of hot seed and his husband convulse and shudder, everything clicked back together. Clicked, because it was so seamless. The understanding was so apparent. Who else in this little timeline of theirs had it so good and _right?_

In that brief space of time, Pentagram City vanished. The Sinaloa, the gangs, Pentious, Valentino, all a vapor.

-*-

“You gotta’ wash th’sheets though.”

Thief called from the bedroom. _“What!? This was your idea!”_

Angel grinned to himself, cleaning his visage as he looked himself over in the bathroom mirror. “Didn’t see you say nothin’. Ya’ just kept on bangin.”

_“It’s your mess too!”_

“No arguin’,” laughed Angel. “You got jizz duty dis time.”

By that he meant cleaning their bedsheets after sex. Wasn’t always necessary. Though, ejaculate was just a _terrific_ mess maker.

Anon grumbled but didn’t protest, disrobing the bed to prepare the linens for wash. Angel, still nake, squeezed at his chest fluff and finish cleaning himself off. He gazed at the reflection, studious.

Was it egotistical of him to assert he’d grown? He had. Matured, despite his past antics. It felt. . . nice. He never really imagined this could ever be a “thing.” That he could ever get beyond the days of drugs and manipulation and sex.

He was cut off by a sensation at his ankle. Nuggets had appeared, oinking, to which Angel scooped him and smiled.

“Heeeey Nugsy! Aww, did ya’ wake up m’little piggy wiggy? What’samatter? Ya’ hungry?”

Nuggets oinked.

Angel chuckled. “Mmkay. Lemme’ get ya’ somethin’.”

He flicked off the bathroom light, feeling a sense more whole and greater than he was a few days ago.


	19. Walk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel and Thief take a stroll when Alastor pays them a visit.

**Walk**

“Frankly, I’m surprised it looks as good as it does.”

“Right? Y’figure it’d just be filled with hobos givin’ each other gummy blowies, but it ain’t so bad.”

Thief cast his husband a face. “Angel.”

The spider snorted with laughed, nudging Thief. “I mean, dey still doin’ it, just with the decency to be outta’ sight.”

Nuggets interrupted the pair with an authoritative oink, weaving left and right as he took the lead down the park sidewalk. Around him, dull grass matched the color of trees shifting to more orangey hues, mimicking the Autumn season while a tender chill clung to the air. Around the pig’s neck was a pink, diamond studded collar, his tail wiggling in appreciation when he stopped to snort at anything that moved.

“That’s real generous of them.”

“I bet they’d let us watch if we asked’im nicely.”

Thief grimaced. “Hey, babe, if it’s all right with you I’m okay with _not_ talking about homeless blowjobs.”

Angel grinned, his one spare arm holding Nuggets’ leash, another hand holding Anon’s non-prosthetic one. “Ey! They need lovin’ too!”

The shadow forced a chuckle. “You’re a real person of the people, hun.”

The wind kicked up again as they strode along. Indeed, for them, it was relieving to finally be out in Pentagram City in their own terms. More specifically, in one of its local parks. Yes, the park was run down and dangerous, but then again, most of the city was. And though the city leaned toward anarchy and chaos, it appeared sinners desired enough peace they wouldn’t trash an area designated for some recreation. It wasn’t much, but given one’s circumstance in Hell, hey, take it.

Angel and Anon had taken for a walk today, giving Fat Nuggets some much needed stretching too. The spry pig was happy for it too, oinking with happy squeaks every other step while the couple chatted about whatever.

“Poor piggy,” Angel commented, looking at Nuggets. “Haven’t had a day fer’em in like, fuckin’ forever.”

He gestured in a direction toward the city. “Used t’get him out a lot, was a real pig mama.”

Thief laughed. “You still are. You spoil him, you know. _Diamond_ studs, Angel, really?”

Angel gave a warm smile towards the pig. “Bitch you know it. Anythin’ for m’little Nugsy-wugsy.”

“Deputy Nuggets needs a gun then.”

They continued along, passing a bridge, where Angel shot Thief a look. “Deputy? Y’still on dat? Ain’t at the Hotel.”

“It was a good fit for him!” Thief protested. “He saved my ass. Hell, with a handcannon little bastard would probably do more than our current ‘security.’”

The spider feigned a frown. “Ain’t nobody givin’ m’little baby a gun. He’s too precious. Riiiight Nugsy?”

The oink stopped, ears flagging as he turned at his name. He looked at his owner and squeaked while Angel quickly scooped him up. Angel nuzzled the pig’s nose with a finger, doting.

“Where d’fuck would ya’ put a gun on dis little sweetie anyway?”

A shrug. “Eh. Tape it to him?”

“NO.”

Lost in the engagement of their laughter and conversation, the pair didn’t even process the silhouette of a figure approaching them. Though in fairness, his arrival was from the “Between” of things, arriving as a shadow does. He hummed, static-laced tone matching his exaggerated stride, scarlet frame contrasting against the park around him, a smile on his pallid features.

“It _is_ a lovely day for a walk, isn’t it?” said Alastor.

Angel and Thief spun, attention gripped by the Radio Demon. He met them with a crescent grin, twirling his mic-staff.

“FUCKIN’!” groused Angel, clutching Nuggets protectively. “Where’da fuck didja’ come from!?”

Alastor chuckled. “Now _that’s_ a question, isn’t it?”

Thief, relaxing his hand (the grip instinctively going to a weapon within his suit), took a more controlled approach. “Oh. Alastor.”

“Ahaha!” laughed the Radio Demon. “Try not to sound so enthusiastic, my dear boy! Save the confetti!”

He stood before them in a manner clear this wasn’t a coincidence. “I _hope_ I’m not intruding, little lovebirds.”

“Asamatterofact,” said Angel in a huff, “We’ze walkin’ here.”

“You’re here,” added Anon. “This can’t be good then.”

Alastor clicked his teeth. “Truly, I’m a broken heart! Why, I can’t check on my favorite destructive duo for a chat? Such a wound, Anon. Your tongue is sharper than a knife!”

Thief gave his husband an uncertain glance.

“Oh, can’t I even thank you two?” Alastor continued. He placed his hands over the bridge railing which oversaw a thin creek of. . . well, not water.

“After all, you did me a favor, and I didn’t even ask, ahaha! Oh if only you knew how entertained I was!”

Angel grumbled. He looked at Thief, a silent indicator he wanted his man to handle this.

“Uh huh,” said Thief, skeptical. “ _What_ favor?”

“Why, turning that cockroach’s studio into part two of the _Towering Inferno_ , my dear boy! Oh, it was ages ago, yes! But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t a right proper knockout.”

Thief blinked. Alastor was referencing, he assumed, what happened to Val’s primary studio. Wasn’t a night he wanted to reflect on.

“More importantly,” said Alastor, returning his eyes to the couple. “To say it inconvenienced that miserable box of whining electro-static is a crime against words! The damage you did to Vox that night, ohoho, he’s still out of sorts, did you know?”

Thief, admittedly, wasn’t too familiar with the mentioned Vox. “Look, Alastor, what is this _really_ about?”

Alastor chuckled. “Sure as the grin on this handsome mug, you’re hearing it!”

“Eh?”

The Radio Demon strolled around them as Angel hugged Nuggets away, observing him move like the Radio Demon might procure a fork and make a go for the pig.

“Is it _truly_ such a difficult thing to believe my thanks is genuine, dear boy?”

 _“Yes,”_ Angel and Anon said in unison.

“Oh!” Alastor exclaimed, miming a pained reaction. “If only you knew how deep the wounds went, truly!”

Thief studied the Radio Demon, then took a moment to gaze around, as if expecting an ambush. Was this a set up? Was someone waiting around a tree? Wasn’t like Alastor to just _appear,_ especially not regarding the affairs of the couple.

“What a terrible day in Hell to know that a man can’t offer his thanks in kindness!”

A pause.

“. . .you’re really serious, aren’t you?” Thief said a moment later. He assumed this, because around this time Alastor typically made his means known.

Alastor glanced at Thief, smirked, then made an airy gesture. “Anything to inconvenience that pretentious gasbag, hah!”

“You mean Vox?”

At this, Angel Dust snickered as the pig wiggled in his protective grasp. “Jeeze, smiles, never figure’d ya get so dick-twisted ‘bout that claptrap.”

“Yes,” said Alastor to Thief. Then he looked at Angel.

“My four-armed friendly fornicator, you have _no_ idea.”

“Apparently,” scoffed Angel.

So this was a good thing, Thief supposed? Hell, Vox barely registered on his radar. Then again. . . when he thought about, Vox was kinda’ everywhere, wasn’t he? He wasn’t just some conglomerate of screens, Vox’s influence was in ads, products, commercials, that sorta’ shit. Guess Thief never paid attention since it was just ‘noise’ and his focus was on taking stuff and Angel Dust. Mostly Angel Dust.

“So what then?” Thief continued. “Some turf gets scorched and Vox is in the crossfire, that it?”

“Among things,” Alastor said, dusting off his knuckles. “He relies on grandiose spectacles of the _shallow_ kind. All sizzle, no bacon!”

Nuggets squeaked and hid into Angel’s generous fluff cleavage, while the spider cast the Radio Demon a scornful look.

“S’real nice story, smiles,” interjected the spider. “Now make like’n eggshell and break! What’cha really want? Was tryin’ t’have a nice walk with my guy, here.”

“Hah!” Alastor chuckled. “Astute you are, and in another time and another place, you’d be spot on! But my thanks is quite real, and it comes without strings, ahah!”

Thief was mixed. Admittedly relieved Alastor wasn’t around to cause trouble, but annoyed that his walk was interrupted just so the deer demon could ‘thank’ them. No strings attached? Oh how _generous_ of him.

“Well, great,” said Thief, dull.

“But that’s not all!” Alastor quickly continued. “I’d be a braying desert mule to ignore the _benefit_ of keeping you two in good sorts, ohoho. Why yes, your exotic escapades have given me more laughs than this sorry little burg has in _decades._ Consider me, then, on your side of the railway!”

Angel twisted his head to the side. “Da’ _fuck?”_

Yeah, Thief wasn’t clear either.

“Oh, you deplorable duo! I like you both! And like I love to see the little Hellcat continue with her pet project, I want to see you two continue on as, well, _you!”_

Here, Alastor pushed himself in the middle of the pair and swung his arms around their shoulders. “Consider me the flip that gets you the blackjack, as Husk might say, ahah!”

Thief felt an uneasy chill run through him, but that was more Alastor’s unsettling grin and pallid features. He wasn’t one to buy words at face value, especially not when it came to Alastor, but. . . if he was understanding this correctly, it sounded like the Radio Demon was trying to be friendly? Actually friendly, as in, genuine in his words and intent. Even if his intent consistently lead to trouble, if he was up to something, he would’ve attempted to snare the two already.

“Um. Thanks?” Thief said, conceding.

Alastor laughed. “The pleasure is _mine_ my shadowy friend!” He released them.

Angel Dust frowned, sighing. “Yeah. Er. What he said. ‘Preesh, smiles. But is dat’ all? I’m workin’ on my figure out here too ya’ know.”

Thief shot his spider a curious glance, to which Angel grinned at. “What, ya’ though my ass was gettin’ bigger by itself?”

Alastor turned away from them, but continued to speak. “Oh, now now, there’s one more thing. I’ve got a little something that might intrigue you both, _and_ to show I say what I mean.”

Thief did his best to push aside thoughts of _rear._ “Uh huh?”

Here, Alastor twitched his fingers as he procured a small, shimmering object in the focus of his palm. In a swift motion he flicked the object to Thief, who caught it. The object was tiny, a cartridge of what appeared to be brass. As he studied it, he quickly realized it was an empty casing, fired from a gun. In fact, a .357. It made no sense why the Radio Demon would have this, considering his low opinion of firearms and how it wasn’t even his _style._

The couple glanced at each other, confused. “Am I missing something?” questioned Thief.

“Quite a thing, that,” said Alastor. “Gauche, loud, crass, lacking all subtlety. The kind of thing fired off from a noisy, clunky firearm, yes?”

The shadow thought it over. “That depends.”

He stared at Alastor. “Look, I appreciate the thanks, I guess, but you can stop speaking in riddles?”

“But riddles are so _entertaining.”_

Alastor chuckled before stepping away from the pair. “I’m off, I think! And if you’re curious, that little number was found on the other side of town. Thought you might want to look it over, close like.”

“What?”

“Toodles!”

In a show of power, the Radio Demon shifted and shimmered, his frame consumed with deep, lightless energy wreathed in scarlet. His frame twitched and, like mist in the morning, he vanished as soon as he arrived, leaving the couple quite confused.

“Okay, _what d’fuck!?”_ Angel exclaimed, his spare arms spread in the air. “Chuckles must be gettin’ bored t’be givin’ us the squeeze, eh?”

Thief nodded, looking at the empty casing over a few times. Really, what the hell? This meant nothing, really. An ejected round? So what?

As he rotated the casing in his fingers a few times, though, he stopped. His eye caught something. There was an etching in the metal. An insignia. Now, that was a real waste of time, honestly, unless the shooter had a high opinion of themselves or possessed a flair for the dramatic. Hell, done incorrectly and you could even fuck up how the round fired off. Regardless, he studied the etching, raising it up to catch some light.

“Huh. . .”

Here he saw something that made him froze. He didn’t want to run to an assumption. This could mean anything. It could be nothing.

That etching, clear as the Pentagram Moon, had a single letter carved in its side: “J”

. . .a letter on a .357 round, the kind of cartridge you could fire off from. . .

A deagle.

Angel noted his husband’s shifting expression. “Baby?”

Easy, Anon, _easy._ He took a breath. “Angel. How old you figure this is?”

Angel blinked, a bit miffed his walk was paused. “Eh?”

He sighed, gently taking the cartridge and giving it a look. Much like he knew the right panties for a night out, he knew his guns too.

The spider shrugged. “I’unno. Ain’t much wear on it. Dere’s a scuff on the side here, so it hit the ground, I guess? But it ain’t much, and it’s all shiny’n shit still. Pretty fresh.”

He sniffed at it. “Fuck, can even smell th’powder still. Betcha this ain’t even a week off been popped.”

. . .so it was recent.

“Why’sit matter?” Angel asked.

For one reason or another, Thief was overwhelmed. Compelled with a strange, unfamiliar sense of joy, he pressed his lips into Angel and kissed his husband, then embraced him.

“I don’t know,” he said, looking the fool.

Nuggets squeaked as he was smooshed between the pair while Angel, a bit surprised, returned the kiss. “Nnmf?”

“Let’s finish our walk.”


End file.
